


Feels Like Home

by DefiantDuck



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-27
Updated: 2016-05-13
Packaged: 2018-06-04 20:33:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 97,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6674566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DefiantDuck/pseuds/DefiantDuck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Surrogacy AU)  ::  To all the world, it seems like Lexa Woods would be the worst parent in the world - she's cold, unyielding and driven, and yet she wants a baby she can't have. Clarke Griffin is a struggling artist who needs big money to kick start her career and help her escape the life she's fallen into with a man she doesn't even love.</p><p>When both women cross paths, it seems that theirs should be a strictly professional relationship. But both Clarke and Lexa end up getting more from one another than they bargained for, and so begins a journey down a path neither thought they'd take.<br/>It turns out, it might just be down the most unexpected paths that you find a home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N – This is a completed fic – As I said in the description, I wanted to have it completely finished before I started uploading it, and that’s what I did. The full thing clocks in at around 96k words. I’ll update it a chapter a day, just to draw it out a little :D So have no fear about the fic dying and never getting finished - it's already done!
> 
> Feels Like Home is based very loosely on the movie ‘Baby Mama,’ but it’s not really a comedy like the movie is. It’s a slow burn, so be expected to work for your Clexa, but I really hope what I’ve written is worth the wait. It might start out a little weird with all the surrogacy stuff, but I hope you'll give it a chance.
> 
> Look, a little disclaimer, I do need to just say that I didn’t write this story to wow you with my knowledge of surrogacy and IVF and whatnot. I took a lot of creative liberties with the process, so please excuse the inaccuracy – I know that the process takes a lot longer than I’ve written it as, and there are courses of hormones that should have been in there, but I sped things up for the story’s sake. You can complain if you like, but all I can do is shrug and tell you I’m writing a story, not a medical journal.  
> Also - I'm Australian. Forgive me if my knowledge of New York is sub-par, or bits of Aussie vernacular find their way where they shouldn't. I don't have a beta, so this is all a bit of a hard slog for me, haha
> 
> I hope you enjoy it <3

**PART ONE**

_CHAPTER ONE_

 

Everyone who had ever met Lexa Woods (or had even had a brief conversation with her in an elevator,) would unanimously agree with utter certainty that this was a woman who had no business raising a child. Of course, it wasn’t that Lexa would be a bad or negligent mother – like almost everything she did in life, chances are she would be as outstanding at child-rearing as she was at being a lawyer. Maybe it was the lack of any kind of warmth or the seeming absence of emotion that struck people as being un-motherlike.

Either way, upon announcing to her family her intentions of having a baby, Lexa couldn’t exactly say it was surprising that she was met with a distinct lack of immediate support.

“A baby.”

Lexa took another slow, calming breath. Keeping it together when she was frustrated and annoyed was one of her strong suits. “Yes. I don’t know what’s confusing you here, Anya.”

Her sister shook her head a little, as though she thought this was all a bad dream, and she would wake up in a cold sweat with the relief of knowing that god no, her little sister wasn’t _really_ going to become a mother. “I mean... _You._ A baby.”

Lexa leaned back in the hard wooden seat of her sister’s dining room and huffed impatiently. “I knew it was a mistake telling you first. I knew you’d be like this.”

“No, no, I’m – I mean – I, “ Her sister spooned more helpings of sugar into her cooling tea while she struggled for words. “I’m just shocked, that’s all. No wait, shocked is the wrong word. I mean... I mean – “

“You mean you’re horrified,” Lexa deadpanned, crossing her arms over her chest.

“No,” Anya said firmly, pointing a stern finger at her sister. “No. Definitely not. I – I just... _why,_ Lex?”

Lexa sighed and looked down at her hands, folded neatly in her lap, and frowned. “I’m just... I...” In truth, she knew just how difficult it was going to be to explain this to Anya, who’d known her since childhood. Anya, who’d known just how disgusted by kids and babies Lexa had been when they’d been younger. There was never a less maternal person on the planet than a sixteen year old Lexa, who’d had to babysit their little cousin twice a week for paltry pocket money. Lincoln was only four, and a true terror. Anya could probably even recall the days when Lexa would arrive home from babysitting, throw herself onto the couch and declare that she would never, _ever,_ have kids.

So Lexa had thrown herself head first into her studies, as she was expected to by her parents (both Anya and their older half-sister Indra had been model students,) had graduated with more honours and awards even than Indra, and had made her flying leap into law school with ease. Lexa had been one of those intensely dedicated students who’d known exactly where she’d been going the moment she started high school. There was never a moment that she wavered from that purpose, that burning ambition to study law. She was a good student, the favourite of most of her teachers (both in high school and in college,) and had been captain of numerous debate teams that had competed at state and national level.

Then she’d graduated law school with even more honours than she’d done in high school, and suddenly she was _there._ She was where she always wanted to be, where she’d spent her entire schooling life striving towards. She landed a dream job at a law firm in New York, and while she wasn’t at the top of the ladder just yet, she studied under a well-known barrister and earned her stripes on some pretty impressive cases. Before she could blink, years had gone by and she’d climbed the hierarchy until she was sitting on top of that mountain she’d started to scale at the tender age of 14, breathless and elated by the success she’d always taught herself to expect. She had made it.

And then more time passed. She started her own firm with a few colleagues, and further established her name as a prominent one in legal circles. She wrote papers for distinguished journals, and worked on some high profile cases involving all manner of public figures. Celebrities, politicians, the obscenely wealthy – her firm was among the first to be called when anyone worth anything in New York was having legal problems.

Then she turned 36, and something else changed. She supposed it began when her parents died. Her mother first, and her father twelve months later, unable to cope with the loss of his wife. She went to two funerals that year, both equally heartbreaking, and stood with Indra and Anya and Lincoln and the rest of her family as the coffin was lowered. Anya’s twin boys chattered where they stood on the ground, both too young to really understand what was going on. Indra’s daughter, an adult herself, stood by her mother, both women as stony faced as each other. Although she stood next to the people who meant the most to her in all the world, Lexa was struck with a harrowing thought – _My family just became a lot smaller._

How much smaller would her family become? When she was the one in the coffin, who would be left standing by, sniffling and holding children close? It was a stupid, selfish thought, she knew, but everything was chaos and wild emotions and unexpected bouts of uncharacteristic tears, and for a moment there, she felt a moment of clarity.

From then on, she felt like almost every baby she encountered – whether it was the chirping kids being wheeled in prams along the streets or Anya’s wild, unruly boys – seemed to be staring right at her, looking into her with wide, questioning eyes. She’d watch her sister pick up her sons and hug them close, and they’d squeal and giggle and writhe free before running off. Her stomach would clench and something in her heart would feel just as restless and wriggling as those little boys.

Calmly, rationally, she thought it all through, like she thought everything in her life through. She had a fantastically high paying job and lived in a fantastically nice penthouse apartment in a fantastically nice part of the city. She could support another _ten_ people in her life if she really wanted to, let alone a single baby. The next thing to consider was simple biology – obviously, Lexa couldn’t make a baby on her own. It’d be nice, but it wasn’t happening anytime soon. Considering IVF wasn’t such a terrifying idea though – given Lexa’s personal preferences to begin with, even if she’d found another person she wanted to have a baby with, they would have had to gone through IVF anyway. Simple biology lesson – you can’t have a baby on your own, and you can’t have a baby with another woman.

So, all that was left was to tell her family.

“I’m getting older,” was what she said to Anya, rather than explaining that this was something that she’d felt coming on over the past year or so, since her parents had died. “Mom always was pestering me to settle down and start a family, you know that.”

“Yeah, but you remember what you always said to her,” Anya reminded her.

“’I’m focusing on my career,’” Lexa chanted. It felt like a mantra. “Which I was. For a long time. I mean, I still am. But things are different now.”

Anya frowned, shaking her head. “Is this because of what happened with Costia? Look, Lexa, I know how it feels to be lonely, and to think you won’t find anyone, but – “

“It has nothing to do with Costia – or my love life in general, for that matter.” Sure, it had hurt when Costia left, and sure, she hadn’t had any action at all since Costia had broken it off, but that was hardly the point. Lexa sighed and looked at her sister imploringly. “Look, I just – I guess I just want what you have.”

One of Anya’s sons wailed from the next room to punctuate the point. There was the sound of the nanny moving around too, quieting down the little boy with a soothing voice. Anya had a good relationship with her nanny, unlike many of the women in the neighbourhood who hired help for their kids. She had a good relationship with her kids too, and her eyes softened. “Lex,” she said, in an uncharacteristically gentle voice, “I... I want you to be happy. And if this is seriously what you think it’s going to take... then I’ll support you in it. Honestly.”

Lexa smiled, and Anya reached out to squeeze her hand. The women in the Woods family weren’t overly emotive – they were tough, and they knew how to fight and persevere for what they wanted. This though, this promise of support and love, even if it was mixed with no small amount of surprise and confusion, was enough for Lexa. At least, enough for now.

 

* * * * *

 

Lexa had to wait another week to talk to Indra about her intended addition to the family, since her sister was flying interstate on a business trip. In the meantime, however, she could tell Lincoln.

Lincoln, one of the youngest among their group of siblings and cousins, was a little of a black sheep. While the rest of the family lived in nice apartments or houses in Manhatten, Lincoln lived in a flat in another part of the city. While it wasn’t the most unsightly neighbourhood, it was still Not Manhatten, and that had meant he’d copped a fair amount of disapproval and annoyance from his parents, and the rest of the family. Lincoln had never complained, though – he’d somehow grown from the squealing brat that Lexa had babysat to a level headed and good-humoured man who knew the value of hard work and dedication. Lexa and he had become fast friends as soon as he was old enough to hold an intelligent conversation.

She took the subway to his apartment block, and although she scolded herself for acting like her snobbish mother, she held tight to her bag until she was clear of the crowded platform.

As she’d expected, telling Lincoln was easy.

“A baby?” He smiled, his eyes lighting with genuine happiness. “That’s awesome, Lex!”

Lexa had smiled a little. “I’m glad to hear you say that,” she said, relieved.

“Of course,” he patted her shoulder firmly, leaning back in his seat to grin in amusement. “Man, I can’t even imagine a kid running around your apartment. It’s weird to even think about it – but I’m happy for you, Lexa. Seriously.”

Lexa had frowned, nerves clawing at her insides. “Do – do you think I’ll be a good mother?”

Lincoln had stood and crushed her in a bone-snapping hug. “You’ll be the best mom. I know it.”

On her way back home, there was a woman on the subway who was rocking a pram back and forth with a tired face. Lexa watched the squirming baby inside and smiled when they looked over at her. The baby smiled back, and she felt warm and strange all the way home.

 

* * * * *

 

Indra ended up delaying her flight back into New York, and Lexa told herself that this was news to be told face to face rather than over a telephone call, so she decided to wait until Indra touched down. Perhaps it was because she anticipated that Indra was going to be the most difficult about this decision, that Indra’s characteristic blend of brutal honesty and dry lack of sentimentality was likely to shake her confidence in her decision. Either way, Lexa had far bigger things to think about. She’d already talked to her doctor about the prospect of her having a baby a few months ago, and not long after she had made a booking at a fertility clinic for a consultation. She’d circled the day on her calendar with thick red marker and wrote ‘The Big Day’ next to it in her neat, small handwriting. Anya volunteered to come to the clinic her on The Big Day, but Lexa refused. She’d already shared this big, terrifying thing she was doing with her family, this part she was ready to do on her own. Just for this fifteen minute appointment, this was going to be her own thing.

She took the day off work and waited for twenty minutes in a quiet waiting room with pictures of smiling, happy families on the walls. The room was aggressively white, as white as only medical facilities could be. There were home design and celebrity rag magazines on a coffee table and, ironically, toys in the corner for kids to play with. She was pondering the logic behind this when a receptionist called her name in a kind voice, and invited her into the doctor’s office. For a moment, she thought she was going to be too nervous to move, but somehow she watched her feet move in the direction of the office. She felt the weight of a seemingly mundane moment as she stepped through the door. This was it. A decision was being made.

The Doctor was smiling as he shook her hand. It was almost like a business deal, everything was professional and logical and explained clearly.

Step One: Her period was going to be suppressed. No big deal, she had never exactly needed it in the past.

Step Two: For the next week and a half, she’d be dosed up with hormones.

Then, her eggs would be nabbed from inside her, mixed up with a little sperm, and poked back inside her. Bam - Instant baby. Well, not instant.

The sperm, of course, presented a whole other set of challenges and decisions. The receptionist handed her a folder full of files about the sperm donors she could pick from, and kindly told her she could take it home with her and mull it over while she was on her course of hormones. Lexa thanks her, thanked the doctor, and then that was it.

That was how she found herself lounging on Lincoln’s couch with this innocuous-seeming folder open between them, discussing, as ridiculous as it seemed, the potential biological father of her child.

“What about this one,” Lincoln said, tapping the plastic folder. “’blue eyes, brown hair, six feet tall’ – hey, it says he’s a doctor!”

Lexa made an uncertain noise, glancing over the clinical looking file, offering bland, lifeless facts about the traits that may one day define her kid. “I don’t know... how do I even know which of these attributes is a good thing?” She tapped one of the files. “I mean, look at this, this one has brown eyes and black hair. How is he any better than the blue eyed doctor?”

Lincoln leaned forward to peer at the file. “For one thing he’s shorter than you and a bus driver.”

Lexa crossed her arms and leaned back into the lounge. “I think I’m having some kind of delayed reaction to all this.”

Lincoln closed the folder. “You freaking out?”

Lexa blinked. “I don’t freak out. I’m just... I’m just nervous, okay? And kind of overwhelmed by this stuff.”

Lincoln sighed. “You know, this is the unimportant stuff. This is the stuff that doesn’t matter at all. You’re not going to love this kid any less if it has brown eyes rather than blue eyes. Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Lexa nodded.

“So,” Lincoln shrugged, “you’ll just make this decision and then forget about it. It’s your baby, after all. Not the brown-eyed-bus-driver’s, or the blue-eyed-doctor’s. It’s yours, Lex.”

Lexa smiled a little. “That... that’s almost more frightening than picking out a donor.”

“What?”

Lexa sighed, and her brow furrowed. “That in a little over nine months, I’m going to have a little person who relies on me entirely, and whose life is completely in my hands.”

Lincoln looked uncertain, but shrugged. “You run a law firm. You hold the lives of people in your hands all the time. Not just clients, but your employees rely on you on a daily basis too. Responsibility has never scared you before, Lexa, and frankly I’d be shocked if it started scaring you now.”

“I’m not scared,” Lexa said at once, straightening up. “I’m just apprehensive.”

“Well, I...” Lincoln hesitated, and Lexa felt something anxious squirm in her stomach. “I mean – Why not wait? I know things have been hard for you since... since Costia, but I promise things will get better, you’ll meet someone, and there’s no need to – “

“This is _not_ about my relationship status,” Lexa said sharply. “For the last time, I do not want a baby because I think my dating life is dead and I want to fill the void in my life with a child.”

Lincoln looked at her and nodded, smiling a little earnestly. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I think a little too much Anya came out in me there.”

Lincoln’s words, she knew, were nothing compared to what she was going to get from telling Indra.

When Indra flew in, Lexa knew she couldn’t put it off any longer, and finally told her what was happening. Lexa had sat her half-sister down on the most comfortable couch in her apartment, brought her some iced tea and asked politely how Indra’s daughter was doing. Indra, infinitely perceptive, knew something was happening at once, and put her iced tea down to stare intensely at Lexa.

Lexa felt her heart stutter in her chest – she hadn’t been this nervous in years, not even in the courtroom. With a deep, shuddering breath, she told Indra in what she hoped was a clear, unaffected voice.

As expected, Indra’s first response was an emphatic “ _Why?”_

Lexa frowned and sat up straighter. This was tenser than any client meeting she’d ever been to – and she’d had meetings with murderers. Well, _alleged_ murderers. “I’d like to start my own family, and I’ve reached a stage in my life when this is expected, and is my last chance to do so.”

Indra leaned back in her chair and surveyed Lexa with those severe eyes. “Can I be honest, Lexa?”

Lexa had expected nothing less. She steeled herself nonetheless. “Of course.”

“This is a bad idea.” All the air left Lexa in a disappointed sigh. Indra waved her hand in a shrug. “For starters, you’re not the mothering type. I’m sure you’d be fine at raising a child, but being a mother is about more than just raising – it’s messy, and unpredictable, and it’s exhausting. I just don’t think you’re the type of person who could handle this sort of thing.”

Lexa felt indignation flare inside her. “We’re not so different,” she pointed out. “You and I both think the same way, and yet you have a daughter.”

Indra offered a small shake of the head. “Yes, but it wasn’t only me Soncha was relying on. When she was very small, you’ll recall I had some assistance.”

“You went through the divorce when she was still young,” argued Lexa.

“I did. And then I had a nanny.”

“I will be hiring a nanny,” Lexa retorted. “I don’t intend on staying away from work for any longer than I must.”

“This is what I’m talking about,” Indra said firmly, shaking her head and smiling a little. “You talk about having a child as if it’s going to be a life event you can tick off a shopping list of things you need to get done before you turn forty, and then just forget about it. It doesn’t work like that, you are talking about disrupting every aspect of your life for a very long time.” She was silent for a few moments, before adding, “all I’m telling you is that you need to think this through, Alexandria. You shouldn’t have a child just because you reach a stage in your life and you realise you haven’t had one yet.”

Lexa bristled, her brow furrowed. “That’s not – I didn’t mean – “

“You don’t have to listen to me,” Indra said, almost gently. “You never did anyway. Just make sure you know exactly what you’re doing.”

“I do,” Lexa said firmly, glancing over at the sperm donor folder sitting over on the bookshelf. “I promise, I know what I’m doing.”

 

* * * * *

 

Lincoln convinced Lexa to pick the blue eyed doctor as her donor, and after that there was really no more decisions to be made. Lexa was unconscious for the procedure itself, but there was a definite feeling of elation as she came to after it was all done. She didn’t know why she expected the doctor to say something along the lines of ‘congratulations – you’re having a baby!’ but was annoyed when she felt disappointed that this process was just as clinical and businesslike as the rest of it had been.

Lincoln drove her home, and she put a hand over her stomach. Obviously there was not going to be any movement now, she wasn’t an idiot. But still, there was _something_ in there, even if it was still cooking, even if it was only just forming. It was going to be something, a something which would eventually have thoughts and opinions and feelings and ideas all its own. Lexa figured she was having one of those ‘beauty of nature and life’ epiphanies that only pregnant women seemed to have, and put it down to the hormones she’d been on lately. No one could blame her for being a little loopy, right?

There seemed to be a horrible lot of waiting when it came to IVF, and Lexa found herself in another bout of this same, tedious wait. She was going to take a pregnancy test, but knew that the later she left it the more likely it would be accurate. So, she went back to work.

She’d only taken a day or two off over the past couple of weeks, but it was enough to have her throwing herself back into her work as though she’d abandoned it for months. There was a big case taking up her time at the moment, a settlement for a high-profile divorce. Generally she didn’t dabble in family law, but this particular client, a wealthy man in the entertainment industry, had requested her firm specifically. She’d handed the case off to a colleague with more experience in family law (her forte was really more criminal law,) but had taken it upon herself to oversee the whole business.

Ideally, even she knew, it was going to be best not to have to go to court – settling outside court would be the best outcome, and at the moment she and those assigned to the case were hard at work preparing for a meeting with the client’s ex-spouse in a few days. It was a busy time, and she found she was relieved. Busy was what she needed, the more distractions the better. It was already weird enough to resist the urge to just stare at her stomach when she needed to be getting paperwork and records of property ownership together.

So, after a month, she was relieved to be able to take home a pregnancy test kit from the drugstore, throw her bag on the kitchen bench and set about getting a definite answer to this thing. She (and whoever was camping out in her stomach,) were in limbo for the past month – just seeing that definite proof that this was happening would let Lexa start making some more concrete preparations.

She stared at the testing stick, waving it around a little as though she thought somehow that would make it happen any quicker. It didn’t, and she still found herself waiting the couple of minutes she knew she’d have to wait anyway.

One single pink line down the middle of the indicator made Lexa’s heart stop beating and her breath catch in her throat. Not pregnant.

“Okay,” she said to herself, her voice echoing around her empty (and childless,) apartment. “Okay.” The urge to panic was fighting the urge to cry, which was wrestling with the urge to scream. Of course, she was Lexa Woods, so she did none of these things. Instead, she snatched up her keys and bag and made an immediate stop to the fertility clinic.

It occurred to her that she probably should have called first, but the irritated receptionist managed to fit her into the doctor’s schedule, and she only ended up waiting forty five minutes to see the doctor. The wait gave her a chance to calm down, and think rationally. There could be any number of reasons that the test looked like that – maybe it was defective? Maybe she’d done it too early? The rational part of her mind told her that there was no way in hell that test was defective, and that one month into a pregnancy was definitely not too early.

She strolled into the doctor’s office as soon as the door was opened and the receptionist made eye contact with her, about to invite her inside.

Lexa knew that what she wanted was to be 100% sure, even though the pit in her stomach was telling her that she already was 100% sure, she just didn’t want to accept it. All the same, the doctor conducted his own test, and the result came back the same.

“IVF isn’t effective all the time, not by any stretch of the imagination.” The doctor told her gently. “We can try again. But – before you consider anything else, I would recommend a fertility test.”

Lexa agreed at once. Again, she was all about definite, concrete knowledge. The test was uncomfortable, and Lexa felt a rising sense of anxiety. At least at the end of it all, she would know.

Perhaps, this once though, definite, concrete knowledge was not what she wanted.

She listened to the doctor’s words without really hearing him. She knew what he was telling her, what his words meant. Thanking him politely, Lexa left the office, paid the receptionist the clinic’s fee, walked out into the parking lot.

Then she got into her car, leaned her forehead against the steering wheel and, for the first time since she was fourteen, just closed her eyes and cried.

 

* * * * *

 

“Maybe this is a sign,” Indra said with a shrug as she took another sip of wine, looking around at her sisters. “Maybe this just isn’t something you’re meant to do.”

“Clearly nature intended I not do it,” Lexa said in a low voice, swirling her wine in the glass. She could have wine now.

Lincoln carried a wheel of cheese over to the coffee table on a platter and set it down gently, sighing sadly. He sat down next to Anya, who was looking at Lexa with a mournful look. “I’m so sorry, Lexa,” Anya said, shaking her head. “I know this is disappointing.”

The room at large bristled. Lexa shrugged, crossing her arms over her chest. “It’s no matter. I’ll... I’ll just...”

Her words were met with silence. After what seemed like entire minutes of awkward quiet and uncomfortable shifting in seats, Indra broke the silence.

“This isn’t the end of the world,” she said brusquely, with a shrug anyone who didn’t know her well would call heartless. “You’re still healthy, you have a good job and a nice house – things could be far worse.”

“Exactly,” Anya chimed in, nodding wisely. “Lexa, I really think you dodged a bullet here.” When Lexa raised her eyebrows questioningly, Anya huffed and shrugged, almost as haughty as Indra. “It’s just... maybe Indra is right. Maybe this didn’t happen for you for a reason. Babies are... they’re messy, and involved, and I don’t think you were really equipped to handle it, Lex. I mean, not right now. Not on your own.” Anya leaned forward a little, offering a sympathetic look. “I think you might have been rushing into this. Don’t give up on finding someone, Lexa, you don’t have to rush into making a family.”

Indra shrugged. “Some people aren’t the family-making sort anyway. There’s no shame in it.”

Lexa felt at once intensely furious, and sitting there in her favourite armchair, she felt her blood boil. Her family had talked a good game about supporting her in her decisions, but when it all fell apart, they sung quite a different tune. She stared at the floor, glowering. Conviction and determination clashed with disappointment and hopelessness, and she was left feeling angry and exhausted.

Indra disappeared into the kitchen to find some more crackers to put out, and Anya followed her, chattering about some wine she knew Lexa had squirrelled away in the pantry. Lexa leaned back in her chair and let out a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding.

Across the room, Lincoln, who had so far been silent, leaned forward. “I’m sorry, Lexa. I really am.”

Lexa didn’t look up from where her gaze rested upon the carpet. “It’s not your fault.”

“No,” Lincoln shook his head with pursed lips. “I mean, I’m sorry you had to hear all that. From Indra and Anya.”

Huffing a little, Lexa glanced over at her cousin with a puzzled look. “Oh. They... They mean well. They’ve always looked out for me in the past.” It was true. Anya and Indra’s brand of tough love had gotten her through both good and bad times, and was probably the reason for her own dedication, and the colder parts of her personality – so, most of her personality.

Lincoln glanced at the door to the kitchen warily, almost comically unsubtly, and leaned even further forward. Lexa did the same, her eyes narrowing with confusion. “You know,” Lincoln said softly. “I didn’t want to say anything before, but – you know that there’s more than one way to have a baby.”

“Why do you think I tried IVF?” Lexa said sharply.

Lincoln rolled his eyes. “No, I mean besides IVF.”

Lexa crossed her arms. “You don’t mean – I’ve thought about it, Linc, but I – It would...” She fell silent, shaking her head slightly.

“Why not?” Lincoln retorted firmly. “You want a kid, you should be able to have one.” He sighed. “I have a buddy, his girlfriend’s cousin works at a surrogate agency. I can get in touch, maybe get you a number to call.”

Lexa closed her eyes and exhaled slowly. Of course she’d thought about surrogacy, of _course_ she had. Something about the whole process had seemed terrifying, though. All of the Woods family had always had one thing in common – a complete aversion to the mere idea of relying on someone, particularly strangers. The notion of trusting some other woman, a stranger, with something so big and important had all but revolted Lexa.

But, here she was. A woman with trust issues and no kids. Something was going to have to change. She looked over at where Lincoln was still staring over at her with a smile.

She sighed. “Okay.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This Chapter - we meet Clarke, the struggling artist who suddenly finds herself with more opportunity than she has cash to buy in on it. Fortunately, she comes up with a get-rich-quick scheme that may end up giving her more than just money...  
> Also, Wells is a sweetheart, Finn is a douche and Lexa is a judgemental ass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N - Thanks so so much for all the feedback and kudos and stuff - I have a dopey smile on my face whenever I read people saying nice things about my writing c:

 

 

_CHAPTER TWO_

 

Clarke Griffin opened the tenth pregnancy and surrogacy booklet that was sitting in a stack on her coffee table, and flicked through it with a deep set frown. It was pink and bright, wild enthusiasm contained in a piece of folded paper. It was gaudy and tacky and made the pit of anxiety already present in her stomach widen into a gaping chasm of nerves.

“You know,” she called out, eyes still on the pamphlet or, in particular, a diagram of a uterus. “I’m kinda having second thoughts about this.”

Finn’s head appeared from behind the door to the bedroom, his eyes wide. “Do we need to have the talk again?”

“God, no.” Clarke said at once. The ‘talk’ was a half hour presentation that Finn had given so often at this point that Clarke could mouth the words to her favourite lines, lines like ‘you know how much you need this money,’ and ‘the payout will be incredible,’ and ‘if you’ve got a better get-rich-quick plan, I’d love to hear it.’ The last thing she needed, _ever,_ was to hear the talk again. “I just... this is the real thing, Finn. Pregnancy.”

“Yeah, I read in one of those pamphlets it has to be the real thing or we don’t get paid.”

Clarke laughed, despite herself.

Finn stepped over the smattering of filled cardboard boxes and stacks of art supplies to perch on the end of the coffee table, leaning forward and clutching Clarke’s hands tightly. “Look, I get it’s weird as hell. If there were any other way to get money other than you having to do this, I would do it. Seriously. If I could, I’d be the one getting pregnant, not you.”

Clarke scoffed, because she knew it was a lie. “Have you read these brochures? As if you could handle it, pal.”

Finn rolled his eyes. “Are we good?”

Clarke punched him lightly on the arm, smiling affectionately. “Yeah, loser. We’re good.”

Of, course, they weren’t good at all. Not in the slightest. The apartment had been in boxes since they’d first moved in, and now the few things that they’d bothered to unpack were going right back into the boxes again. It wasn’t the first time they’d been evicted, of course. This was a song and dance both she and Finn had performed many, _many_ times before. When she’d first left college, this had been her entire life – packing up and moving from one place to the next. She’d started out with promise, a shiny eyed pre-med student with dreams of saving lives and serving the greater good of the world. Clarke had been getting excellent marks in all her classes, and she’d been generally liked by the teachers.

She supposed it had all gone downhill after she’d changed her major. Not that she noticed an immediate decline in living standards, she was still living happily on campus in the dorms with a roommate who would eventually become her best friend. It was more the fact that once she switched from medicine to art, the track her life was on took a sudden left turn into far shakier territory. Not much changed at first – she still studied hard, and did well – she was even honoured with awards at the end of year student gallery exhibition. Clarke was a talented artist and almost everyone, including teachers, told her she was going places.

And then – she didn’t.

She graduated, moved out into the big wide world, and started painting. Unfortunately, as she realised, the world of art doesn’t operate by rewarding whoever works the hardest. She moved from apartment to apartment four times over that first two year stretch following college. Clarke kept on painting, almost stubbornly, during those times. She maintained it was during the days when she would barely eat anything to save money, and lived in apartments without air conditioning in sweltering summer heat, that she painted her best pieces. They were dark and brooding, somehow perfectly capturing the desperation and emptiness and despair that her life seemed to be filled with at the time. She quickly realised that whatever desperate emotions her works were infused with, galleries and collectors weren’t into. She realised that just because she didn’t sleep for days because she was working on a new painting didn’t necessarily mean anyone else was going to love it as much as she did. Creatively, she felt on the top of her game. Financially, emotionally and physically, however – she was utterly drained. And it was about this time that she realised something else – life isn’t fair either. She took a job at a grocery store, bagging food and weighing fruit because that’s all she was qualified for, and resigned herself to the fact that she was never going to earn money as an artist.

She had been almost six years out of college ended when she met Finn. Poor, tragic, bad-boy, down-on-his-luck Finn. He’d done a stint at Juvie when he was younger, and had gone through three jobs in the past two years – none of which lasted longer than three months. He was entirely different to the last roommate she’d had – her college roommate, Octavia, had been her closest confidante, and they’d stayed up late just talking about their plans for the future. Octavia had been studying law, with a fervour and passion that matched Clarke’s own passion for art. Clarke wondered whether Octavia had become a lawyer – they’d lost contact completely after Clarke had moved away. Needless to say, Finn hadn’t been Octavia.

Somehow, something about whatever state Clarke had been when they’d met caused her to believe this was the kind of person she was into, though. Finn wasn’t the kind of guy you take home to meet your parents and make plans with for the future – Finn was for late nights spent drinking and laughing and fighting and having wild, angry sex with as the sun came up and then trying to ignore the fact that he had stolen at least half of the things that he owned. Suddenly, though, Clarke had found someone she could move from apartment to apartment with, someone who shared her experience of near-poverty, and who knew how to stretch a dollar as far as it would go. He had unpredictable mood swings, was constantly drunk and barely ever held down a job, but Finn became an approximation of home.

And then two years passed, and suddenly she was thirty. Thirty year olds, she’d supposed, were supposed to be people who had their shit together, who knew where their lives were headed. Clarke woke up on her thirtieth birthday in an apartment that stank of weed and god knows what else, next to a man who had his life together to an even lesser extent that she had. She had cried, in bed as the sun came up, her own sobs punctuated by Finn’s quiet snores.

Then came the lifeline, in the form of Wells Jaha.

Wells and Clarke’s parents had been friends, and they themselves had been close since childhood. It was a chance encounter in the street that saw them face to face after having not seem one another since high school.

“God, Clarke, it’s been so long!” Wells exclaimed enthusiastically. “You’re looking great,” That, Clarke decided, was an outright lie. Living the way she had been living, she couldn’t possibly be anything other than haggard and aged. Wells had always had a soft spot for her though, so she smiled thankfully.

“What are you up to?” She asked. “Still painting?” Wells had been studying art as well, at a different college. She had fond memories of fingerpainting with Wells when they were both five years old, and drawing stick figure portraits of one another while sitting cross legged on the lawn in the backyard. Just seeing Wells was making her fill with a warm glow from those memories. Happier times.

“Still painting,” he laughed, as if it were ludicrous to suggest he’d be doing anything else. “Yeah, things are going well. How about you, Griffin? You were always the talented one, y’know.”

“Yeah,” Clarke said hollowly, feeling her mouth dry. “Still painting.” She hadn’t picked up a paintbrush in three years. She’d been jumping from one crappy low level job to another since she was 23 years old.

Something crossed Wells’ face suddenly, something like realisation. He reached out and gently grabbed her shoulders, guiding her towards the side of the sidewalk, out of everyone’s way. He leaned closer, his eyes bright with excitement. “Hey, I just thought – I... me and some buddies of mine from college, we’re putting on a group exhibition in a few months. Well – more than that – there’s a little warehouse in an up-and-coming part of the city, we’re thinking about buying it, fixing it up and turning it into a gallery. Then we can have an opening exhibition, and one of my friends has some pretty kickass contacts – we could probably get some critics, reviewers, maybe collectors to come. It’s an awesome career move.”

 “Good for you,” Clarke said, trying to sound less bland and more enthused, not entirely sure if she’d succeeded.

“Yeah,” Wells smiled a little. “But, the real estate agency has been screwing around with us a little. Their fees are ridiculous, and then we’ve got the actual renovation of the gallery to account for – it’s a lot of money. Thing is, we’re looking for one more artist to exhibit with us, help us build the gallery. Spread out the cost, all pay a share to show our stuff in the opening exhibition.”

Realisation sparked like a flame inside Clarke, and she suddenly felt numb, as if she was frozen in place by shock. “Wells... are you – ?”

“Look, I’m not promising anything,” Wells said with a chuckle, raising his palms. “But I know how good you are, Griffin. And a good word from me, the other guys wouldn’t hesitate to include you.” He shrugged, pretending to ignore Clarke’s expression, mouth agape and eyes wide. “So – what are you doing tonight? Can I swing by and see your recent stuff, maybe see if it’s right for the exhibition?”

“Yes,” Clarke blurted, not even a beat after Wells had finished talking. “Yes, of course, I’ll give you my address, come by any time. Please. Thankyou.”

Wells laughed. “Okay.” He paused, just grinning at her. He sighed. “Y’know, I’m really glad I ran into you, C.”

“Me too,” Clarke said, clutching his arm affectionately but tightly, as though she were afraid he was an Illusion, and would evaporate into thin air at any moment.

She scribbled down her address, then crunched it up and rewrote it neater, because she couldn’t bear the thought of Wells being unable to decipher her handwriting and not be able to find her apartment. Then she entered in her phone number and email address to his phone, and then friended him on Facebook for good measure. He laughed at her, and she laughed too, but there was nothing funny about it – this wasn’t an opportunity she was letting slip by.

He came around 7:30 that night, thankfully before Finn had stumbled home from wherever he spent the day, and Clarke had put up her paintings around the living room, pushing most of the cardboard boxes that littered the apartment into hers and Finn’s bedroom, out of sight. Thank god she’d kept the paintings, when she’d been so tempted to throw them out. She only had a few, the ones she was too attached with to get rid of, but it would be enough to show Wells what she could do. And – all things considering – it would be enough to put in an exhibition.

Wells, to her immense relief, loved her work. He looked at the paintings for a solid five minutes each, murmuring contemplative things like “The forms here, beautiful,” and “exquisite colours in this one,” as he moved around the works. It made her heart swell – no one had praised her art since college, and she had long believed her talent all dried up.

“I think they’d be a perfect fit,” Wells said finally, after thoroughly examining each work. “If you were planning on making more of these in the next few months, I’d say get to it.” He looked at her earnestly. “I know it’s a big decision, and I won’t ask you to decide now, but I really believe this exhibition is the perfect career move for all of us, and this old warehouse is in a fantastic spot. And once it opens, I know for a fact there’ll be people there who can really make waves in the art world – I mean... what I’m trying to say, C, is that if you’d like it, there’s a place for you at this gallery.”

Clarke found she couldn’t come up with words, instead moving forward to capture Wells in a tight, strangling hug. “Woah – okay!” Wells laughed, that big booming laugh that Clarke hadn’t heard in so long. “I’ll take that as a yes!”

“Yes,” Clarke said emphatically. “Yes. I’d be honoured.”

“Alright then,” Wells said gently, as they parted. He was still smiling as he took out a notepad and scribbled something onto it. “Okay – here’s the address of the warehouse, as well as my address and phone number. We’ll organise something next week, and you can come round and meet the guys and we can all go check out the space. One of us is doing some installations, so it’ll take a bit of co coordinating, but that’ll make more sense once I show you the floorplan we’re thinking about. Apart from that,” he handed her the piece of paper and tapped a number on it. “This is your share of the fee – construction, realtors, everything. I know it’s steep, but it’s a fair split.”

Clarke’s heart stopped and she felt the air catch in her lungs.

She didn’t think she’d ever owned this much money altogether in her entire life. Ever. Let alone now, when she’d been living in essential poverty for nigh on a decade. She looked up and saw Wells smiling expectantly at her. She forced a smile, and hoped it didn’t look like a grimace. “I... When do I have to pay this?”

“The tradesmen want a deposit, so say, a quarter of it in three months, and the rest, at latest, a week before construction’s all done and we’re ready to start exhibiting.” Wells said. “You can swing it, right?”

“Of course,” Clarke said at once, keeping her voice steady. “I can pay it.”

“Awesome,” Wells said, squeezing her shoulder affectionately. “Look, I’ll call you later, okay?” He grinned, unbridled excitement. “This is it, C – the big break!”

She smiled at him right up until he waved goodbye and walked out her door, and then she had to sit down. Perching on the edge of the couch, she put her head in her hands and forced herself to take a few deep breaths. It was a ridiculous amount of money – enough to make her feel lightheaded and ill. But it was an incredible opportunity, Wells had been right about that. It would only take one critic talking favourably about her work in a journal, or one collector to take a liking to her paintings for everything to turn around. And in their own gallery? It was unthinkably great. It had been such a long time since she had felt this way – she felt the artist in her, which had been dormant for years now, awaken, and she told herself she wasn’t going to let this chance slip away.

The most immediate hurdle, of course, was telling Finn. She worked on what she was going to say all evening, all the while knowing that telling Finn that she needed this kind of money could potentially mean the end of their relationship. She didn’t want to lose Finn. Finn was a fixture in her life when everything else had been fleeting and temporary, and she didn’t want to lose the rock she’d clung to while the storm had been raging around her. It sounded dramatic, she knew, especially when that rock was an emotionally unstable douchebag, but that was how she felt.

Finn came home late in an excellent mood, having won a bit of money playing poker all day, and somehow they ended up in bed before she even had a chance to say anything. Sex with Finn had never been the best sex she’d ever had – it used to be, when he was new and she was excited. But now, it was a regular occurrence and she got the impression he never once really _enjoyed_ it. He could have done it with anyone and still got the same amount out of it. Every now and then, if they’d been fighting, he’d be rough with her, but she was just as rough with him. It was easy to just let off steam with Finn.

When it was over, and they lay in bed, she told him about the exhibition and the gallery.

In the afterglow, still elated and panting, he actually laughed when she said it. “An _exhibition?_ In your own gallery? _”_ He chuckled. “Seriously? Congratulations, babe.”

She beamed and thanked him, always knowing that this wouldn’t last once she told him how much money she needed to make it happen. Clarke didn’t give him the exact number, just a rounded figure, but even that didn’t make it sound any better. His face froze in its smile, and the happiness left his features.

“Fucking kidding?” He said bluntly. “Where the fuck is that kind of money coming from? Do you even _realise_ how much money that is?”

“Of course I do,” Clarke snapped.

“So – you told him you couldn’t do it, right?” Finn pressed. “You backed out?”

Clarke was silent.

“ _Fucking hell.”_

“I can come up with the money somehow, I know it.” She said, her voice rising. “Finn, I can’t let this opportunity go, I swear if I manage to do this then everything else will work out.”

“C, we’re _weeks_ behind on rent. Months, really. It’s a miracle the landlord hasn’t thrown us out already. We’ll be looking for another place within the fortnight, and you really want to dump this on us _now?!”_ He shook his head, frowning. “I mean, of course it would be great if it happened - But God, Clarke, I really thought you were done with this shit.”

Clarke was still. “What shit? My art?”

Finn rolled his eyes and pursed his lips. “No, I didn’t mean that, don’t fucking start on me now. I just – you know how impossible this is, right?”

“Yes,” she said tensely. “I know how impossible it is. But I swear to god. I’m going to find a way to do this.”

They slept facing away from each other that night. Finn didn’t speak to her at all the next morning either, just fixed her with a look that was part ways frustrated, as well as annoyed and confused. She got the impression that he was often confused by her – confused that he was still with her, confused as to why she was the way she was, confused about how he could possibly have ended up in a life like this. Clarke knew next to nothing about Finn’s childhood, but she could easily guess that Finn was the kind of kid who had grand plans for fame and fortune that he expected to have handed to him, without any kind of exertion on his part. In his grand plan, she could bet that there would never have been room for a girl like her – and yet, here she was.

She took it as a sign that it was only that day after she’d told Finn about the exhibition that the real stroke of genius hit her. She was walking to her job at the McDonalds down the road, the most recent in a string of fast food service jobs, when she saw them. Two pregnant women, walking down the street with the most merry and pleasant of looks on their faces. Chatting happily, one with a casual hand resting on her belly, and the other laughing at some unheard joke. Maybe it was because she had money on the brain, but she’d been looking at everything around her with dollar signs in her eyes like a cartoon character.

Her eyes fell on the pregnant ladies and her mind ticked over like an engine starting.

She had to get through her shift at Mcdonalds before anything could be done. The manager could probably tell that her mind was elsewhere, and she made a few mistakes. It didn’t matter though – she wasn’t attached to the job, getting fired would be a blessing. Especially if her new plan worked out.

Finn was already home when she got to the apartment. He was smoking something that didn’t smell like tobacco, and watching the TV, but he fixed a cold look on her as she blew in, red faced from rushing home. She stood in front of the TV and held up her phone, a google search open on the browser.

Finn was indignant. “Get out of the – “

“I know how I’m going to get that money.” She said.

Finn blinked, before lifting the remote to turn the TV off. “Okay?”

“And not just my money – money enough to set us up for a while – ages.” Clarke grinned.

Finn leaned forward. “Spit it out, C.”

She tossed him her phone and he peered down at the open google search. “Surrogacy.” She said.

“ _Surrogacy?”_

“Yeah.”

“You... you’re gonna...” he scolled down a web page on Clarke’s phone, shaking his head in bewilderment. “You’re just gonna have some woman’s baby.”

“Yes.” She moved forward to scroll the phone down and point out a paragraph. “Read that. Take a look at how much money I could end up with.”

Finn read, and then his eyebrows hit his hairline. “Oh my _god._ Clarke – “ he stared up at her, eyes wide with excitement. “Are you seriously considering this?”

She dropped to her knees and rested her elbows on his knees. “ _Yes._ It’s nine months. Nine months of carrying some other woman’s baby, and then it’s out, I’m free _and_ rich as hell. I’ll be able to have my exhibition, _and_ we might even be able to move to a nicer place.”

Finn whooped loudly, getting up from the couch to seize Clarke’s hands and dance around her excitedly. She laughed the way she hadn’t laughed in years, and Finn looked more elated than maybe Clarke had ever seen him. Finally, he pulled her in for a tight hug. “So what do we do now?”

“I’m gonna call some surrogate agencies. I think I’ve gotta do some tests and background checks and stuff, and then I have to wait until some woman actually picks me as a surrogate, but then it happens and we get paid.”

Finn nodded solemnly, the grin still on his face. “Holy shit, babe. You’re the fucking best for doing this. Like seriously.”

Clarke pursed her lips, her eyes still shiny. “Okay, but first, I’m just gonna do a bit of forward thinking here – you gotta promise me something.”

“Anything!”

“It’s all excitement now, but when I’m having second thoughts, you gotta tell me I have to go through with it. You can’t let me back out.” Clarke said seriously.

“I won’t,” Finn said solemnly. “I swear to god, you are not backing out of this.”

The surrogate agencies were receptive – Clarke quickly found one she liked (she wasn’t picky,) and organised a meeting. The meeting turned into a consultation to get her background checks done, and then she was told she’d made it onto a list of other surrogates who could be picked by potential clients. Clarke’s enthusiasm about the entire business lasted as long as it took for her to get home after it was all done. She looked in their apartment’s cracked mirror and shook her head, wondering why the hell she’d even agreed to do this. Finn forced her to stay on track, which was irritating because she knew she’d asked him to do it, but it didn’t reduce how angry it made her. They would have great shouting matches those first few days, when she was racked with regret and considering calling the agency to call the whole thing off. Finn got downright furious when she talked about cancelling it all. He had the scent of money, and he became moody and downright unpleasant when she even expressed the slightest modicum of regret.

Days turned into weeks, and still she heard nothing. Getting antsy, she got another job. She knew that if the surrogacy gig fell through, there was no way known she would be able to make enough money to cover the exhibition, but still – sitting at home waiting for the agency to call made her anxious. Weeks turned into a month, a month during which Finn found and promptly lost another job. His abysmal employment track record stood, and he was back to his usual habits of disappearing for days on end and returning at ridiculous hours. They found another place to move, and made themselves ready to vacate their current apartment the second the landlord told them to.

Then, almost exactly a month after she’d been put on the surrogate’s list at the agency, she got the call. The actual words of the woman on the phone were hazy, through her euphoria she only managed to pick up the basics. A woman had chosen her as a potential surrogate, and wanted to meet with her. Finn was ecstatic.

Just before the meeting, when she’d been going over the pamphlets again – that’s when the jitters had started.

“Are we good?”

“Yeah, loser, we’re good.” Somehow, Finn’s usual pep talk wasn’t working.

Finn grinned at her and clasped her shoulder. “Then let’s go get ‘em.”

They took the bus to the agency – neither of them had owned a car since their early twenties, and it was cheaper to catch public transport anyway. In any case, Clarke noticed her hands were shaking just before they were going to walk into the agency.

The agency had a couple of meeting rooms set up just for these kinds of occasions. Clarke had seen them only once, walking past one in a hallway, but from memory she knew they were small and clean, well-lit and inviting. Any room meant to accommodate a roomful of skittish, nervous people would have to be, she supposed.

The receptionist pointed her to one such room. She took a few deep breaths and thought of the gallery, thought of her paintings hanging on a wall she built herself for distinguished people to view and discuss. Then she glanced at Finn, who was looking excited as hell, and pushed the door to the room open.

The woman from the agency who Clarke had talked to earlier on the phone was already there, as was another woman, sitting in a chair facing away from the door. There was a coffee table before her, and another couple of chairs on the other side of the table, clearly meant for Clarke and Finn. Finn had insisted on coming, and the agency woman had insisted the same – apparently, it was healthy to involve partners in the process. Thinking of Finn as her ‘partner’ was grating though, and Clarke suddenly wished she was alone.

The agency woman smiled over at them, and waved them inside. “Ah, here we go! Come in, please!”

Clarke took halting, anxious steps forward, moving over towards the other chair and sitting down, sensing Finn take the seat next to her, still radiating delight. Then she looked up and got her first look at the woman sitting opposite.

Dark hair was tied back into a tight bun, braided at the sides for some degree of flair. The woman’s plump lips were pursed and her eyes were wide with nervousness. Perhaps it was that her eyes seemed so large for her face, which was all sharp planes of tanned skin over cheekbones as defined as a movie star’s. She was slim but seemed somehow _solid,_ moving and shifting with a kind of confidence that had Clarke straight up staring. The woman didn’t look so old, but she had to be a good few years older than Clarke, there was something heavy and thoughtful in her wide dark eyes that said so. Clarke realised she’d been staring for far longer than was actually reasonable, but could anyone blame her? This woman was beautiful, only an idiot would ever deny that.

“Okay, what’s going to happen is this,” The agency woman smiled, clasping her hands together. “You’ll have a half hour in here together – try and get to know each other, but also try and talk about the baby. Then Clarke, you’ll be hearing directly from us what the next steps are.” She looked around at them for a moment, still smiling that bland, grating smile. “Okay? Well, I’ll be leaving you all to it then. Give me a yell if you need anything or if you have questions!” The woman breezed out of the room along with any of the warmth in the room, leaving only cool anxiety and awkward silence.

“So!” Finn leaned forward, his most charming grin plastered on his face. He offered his hand to the woman, and she reluctantly took it. “I’m Finn Collins, it’s fantastic to meet you!”

She looked bewildered for a moment, glancing at Clarke before clearing her throat. “I’m Lexa Woods.” A low, firm voice. Clarke wondered what she did for a living – whatever it was, she was sure this Lexa Woods was in command, controlling people with that commanding voice. She had a sudden desire to hear her own name in that voice.

She realised both Lexa and Finn were staring at her, and she offered her hand as well, hastily, awkwardly. “I’m Clarke. Clarke Griffin.”

“Pleasure,” Lexa said, and it was in a cool, unaffected voice. Her handshake, of course, was a firm one.

“So,” Clarke said hoarsely, suddenly feeling her throat dry. “I... What would you like to know about us?”

Lexa surveyed her, eyes hard as she looked her up and down briefly with a flick of that stony gaze. Clarke realised what was making her feel like her insides were melting – being faced with the woman who would  one day raise and mother the child she may give birth to was making everything seem so much more real. If everything went well, she was _actually_ going to have a baby inside her, and this woman was banking on the fact.

Speaking of bank, she reminded herself to think of the money and her art, and it made her feel a little better.

“I was going to ask the same thing,” Lexa said seriously. “I suppose this will only work if we’re all comfortable with one another.”

“Agreed,” Clarke shrugged. “I guess... I guess in that case, I think I’d like to make sure you’re going to be a good mother.”

Something crossed Lexa’s eyes, just for a moment and too quickly for Clarke to pinpoint what it was. “Fair enough.” Lexa said smoothly. “How do I convince you of that?”

Clarke shrugged, trying to emulate the other woman’s cold tone. “Tell me about yourself? What do you do for a living?”

“I’m an attorney. Criminal law. I am the co-founder of a successful law firm.”

Clarke could almost hear the internal scream of excitement from Finn as he shifted like an overtired puppy next to her. At the slightest sniff of money, Finn tended to get excited. She kept her gaze steady on the other woman. “Where do you live?”

“Manhatten. Upper East Side.”

Finn nearly passed out. Clarke could tell disbelief had crossed her face, but she schooled her features and prayed Finn wouldn’t give them away. Lexa was probably already looking at their shabby clothes with judgement and disgust. Clarke knew Lexa was about to ask her a question, and she also knew with dread what it was going to be.

“And what is it you do?”

Clarke swallowed hard. This woman didn’t want a broke burger-flipper from the rougher parts of town. She wanted someone who was reliable and intelligent and dignified and cultured and everything she was already thinking that Clarke wasn’t. Lexa was looking at her expectantly, and she heard herself say before she could stop herself, “I’m a doctor.” Why not? She might have become one if she’d had any sense back in college and didn’t change her major.

Lexa’s eyebrows rose slightly, as if she couldn’t believe an actual doctor would dress like this. Clarke felt Finn shift in surprise next to her, and Clarke prayed that he wouldn’t give her away. Lexa turned to him. “And what do you do, Mr. Collins?”

“Accountant,” he answered smoothly. “Sounds boring, I know.” Finn didn’t have a lot going for him, but the man had always been a stellar liar. Clarke supposed it was what came out of being a delinquent.

“Not at all,” Lexa replied politely. She looked between them, and a kind of unsettling silence echoed throughout the room.

“So what happens now,” Finn asked, direct as ever. “I mean, we’re not exactly familiar with the process, but – “

“You don’t have to do anything as far as I know.” Lexa said at once. “You’re... you’re not the only candidates I’m meeting with today.”

Clarke’s eyebrows rose, and she was sincerely glad that she’d lied about her career. Or, lack thereof. “I suppose that makes sense.” Clarke said lightly, as though she was struggling for something to say.

“In fact, I think I might be meeting someone else quite soon,” Lexa said abrasively, blatantly checking her watch. “If we could, perhaps, wrap this up...”

Finn’s eyes narrowed, and Clarke frowned. Her stomach suddenly felt hollow. This woman, this rude, entitled demon of a woman, had clearly already made up her mind about them. She was moving them along, as though they were cattle at a show, they were just meat to plant a baby in rather than actual human beings. Clarke felt rage build in her, and Finn glanced at her, sensing it.

He started to stand. “Come on, babe, let’s just – “

“You should just know,” Clarke said sharply, firmer than she’d spoken this entire interview. “I would... I would be the best fucking surrogate ever. I’m a good person, I’m _responsible_. I’d take care of any kid probably even better than _you_ could, let alone an unborn one.” She shook her head, standing. “You think you can judge us from a two minute interview? You have no idea who I am. Or how perfect I’d be for this.”

Finn pulled on her arm and she let herself be led from the room. “Fantastic meeting you,” Finn shot across the room, forcing politeness.

Lexa fixed a burning look at Clarke, and she just had time to scowl over at the dark-haired woman before Finn closed the door behind them.

Finn rounded on her. “What the _fuck_ is wrong with you!?” He hissed as they stood out in the hallway. “Why did you talk to her like that!?”

“You heard her, she moved us along,” Clarke snarled. “She made up her mind as soon as she saw us. She didn’t buy any shit about us being doctors or accountants. She’s just some stuck up, rich, entitled – “

“You just cost us so much money, Clarke. You just cost yourself your gallery, _and_ the exhibition.” Finn snapped. “You happy?”

“Oh, finished already?” The agency woman was gliding over to them, smiling.

“Apparently!” Finn exploded, stomping down the hall, shoving past her. The woman looked startled, and turned to Clarke questioningly.

Clarke huffed and shook her head, walking past the agency woman as well, hearing her call out that they’d be in touch. There was no way they’d be in touch. There was no way that Woods woman would ever be choosing Clarke as her surrogate.

She fought the urge to cry as she left the agency, following Finn.

She thought of the image of her paintings hung on a wall, and the image faded from her mind like someone put a torch to it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this Chapter - Looks like Clarke made more of an impression than she'd first thought, and Lexa makes a decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N - As ever, thanks for the comments, kudos and reads. You all make me feel warm and fuzzy <3

 

 

 

_CHAPTER THREE_

 

Lincoln flicked through the stack of files in his hands, brow furrowed in concentration. It was almost funny, Lexa thought, the way he seemed angry when he was thinking hard – it was even more bizarre to think about what it was that he was concentrating so hard on.

“So,” Lincoln said slowly, settling on the edge of Lexa’s couch. “you pick one of these ones to be your surrogate?”

“Yes,” Lexa said. “This pile is the ones I interviewed last week, and this pile is the throwaway ones.” She nodded at each pile of files. She had stayed up all night last week deciding which women to interview – the woman at the surrogate agency had told her to read them all carefully, that she’d want to pick someone she wouldn’t mind being in close contact with over the next 9 months.

“You’ll want to be as involved as possible with the process,” the woman had smiled, in that unnervingly plastic way that made Lexa feel uneasy.

“Of course,” Lexa had said.

Now, watching Lincoln flick through the five files of women she’d interviewed, she didn’t feel any more prepared to make this decision than she had before she’d even met them all. The woman at the agency was right – this was an important decision. Lexa was so easily irked by people in general, and if she picked a surrogate who irritated her, she’d be stuck with the woman for months. She was filled with the usual revulsion at having to rely on a stranger, revulsion she’d been feeling quite a lot lately.

Plucking one of the files out of Lincoln’s hand, she flipped it open and scanned the page. She remembered Sandy. A black haired woman with a wide smile, who’d been a surrogate once before. She was a safe option, Lexa remembered thinking – she knew what to expect, how to handle it all, and was professional to the extreme. But – something about Sandy had grated on Lexa. Something about the woman had seemed off, and while Sandy was probably a perfectly friendly woman, the idea of interacting with her on a regular basis for nine months was a vaguely repugnant idea. She set the file aside.

“There’s not much to the files, just basic info and medical stuff” Lincoln murmered, frowning as he passed her another of the interviewee’s files. “What are you looking for?”

“In a surrogate? I don’t know,” Lexa said uncertainly. “The agency lady said I should look for someone with similar values to me, someone I could get along with. Someone who’ll be responsible.”

“Makes sense,” Lincoln said. He tapped the file he’d just handed to Lexa. “What about this one?”

“Karen,” Lexa said, remembering. “She had B.O.”

Lincoln’s eyebrows rose. “And?”

“And I didn’t like her. She talked funny and seemed easily distracted.” She frowned. “I don’t trust anyone who doesn’t hold eye contact.”

That blonde girl had held eye contact. Almost intimidatingly so.

Lexa glanced over at Lincoln. “Can I see those?”

Lincoln passed the other three files and shrugged. “You can always go see another agency, Lex. Or find a surrogate on your own, I’m sure there are loads who aren’t with an agency.”

Pulling out one of the files, Lexa made a distracted noise of agreement as she flipped it open. That’s right. Clarke Griffin. The one who had stared her down before proceeding to shout and rage at her. That girl was like fire, burning hot and out of control. She was a liar too, Lexa recalled, as she ran her finger down the page that included her basic information, gently tapping the _OCCUPATION_ entry, after which was typed _Food Service Worker._ Lexa wondered whether Clarke Griffin was a waitress, or a cook. She privately thought it far more likely that the blonde girl flipped burgers. Her clothes said as much, as did the tangles in her hair and the smears of grease under her jaw, just where she wouldn’t be able to see in a mirror.

And yet she’d had the nerve to lie, and say she was a doctor? Lexa chuckled at the memory.

“What are you laughing at?” Lincoln smiled, his brow furrowing in confusion. “Who’s that?”

“Just one of the surrogates,” Lexa said smoothly, closing the file and putting it back down.

“You like that one?”

“No.”

“What about the others? Those other two?”

“I’ll re read the files, but not really.”

Lincoln shrugged, standing. “I can tell you’re not really in the mood for this right now, Lex.” He picked up his jacket from the coffee table and shouldered it on. “Maybe you ought to take a break and get some rest – maybe sleep on it. You don’t have to rush to make a decision.”

“That’s true,” Lexa sighed, leaning back on the lounge and frowning up at her cousin. “Do you have any plans for the evening?”

Lincoln shrugged and smiled. “Ha, I always knew you secretly enjoyed my company. As much as I’d love to stay for dinner, I’m Meeting someone at a bar tonight.”

“Someone,” Lexa smiled, her eyebrows rising. “A girl?”

Rolling his eyes, Lincoln walked over to the door. “No, just a work friend. You all really need to get off my back about that.”

“I’m only joking,” Lexa said, strolling over to the front door with Lincoln to see him out, smiling a little. “Have a nice evening. Oh, and Lincoln – “ she stopped him before he walked out the door. “Don’t tell Indra or Anya. About – about any of this.”

Lincoln patted her affectionately on the arm. “Of course I won’t. Call me tomorrow, Lex.”

“Will do,” Lexa said, as she closed the door behind him.

Suddenly she was alone, with only the surrogate files to keep her company. The apartment suddenly felt tiny, and she shook her head as if to clear it, deciding not to delve back into decision making, instead crossing to the bathroom for a shower.

Feeling the warm water run down her back, she closed her eyes and felt her mind clearing just a bit. Lincoln was right, of course. She didn’t need to choose any of these surrogates if she didn’t like them, she could always go it alone without an agency.

Clarke Griffin appeared in her mind once more, for no logical reason. It was mainly the image of the girl sitting across from her, a coffee table between them, and blue eyes blazing hot with anger. Clarke had leaned forward on the chair and let Lexa have it, shouting and swearing while her boyfriend stood by, looking dismayed.

That boyfriend, he was a whole other issue. Of course Lexa didn’t have a file on him, but she was almost certain that he wasn’t an accountant. He had that swagger of an overconfident douchebag, and a smirk that was clearly meant to be charming but mostly came off as sickening. He had been restless and fidgety in the interview, where Clarke had been still and watchful. Thanks to her being a successful lawyer, Lexa liked to think she had a particular skill for reading people. It meant little when as a rule she tended to trust no one until she knew them personally, but she always valued the ability to take in a person and be able to think ‘ _yes, you’re a good one.’_

Both Clarke Griffin and Finn Collins had sent that particular sense into overdrive, her instincts screaming that these were not people to be trusted at all, they were liars and idiots and the worst kind of trash. She knew what Anya and Indra would do if they came across people like this in the street – they would sneer as if they were smelling something awful, and cross to the other side of the road for fear of being mugged.

And yet Clarke Griffin had faced her down. She couldn’t get that voice, low and threatening, out of her mind. It was a coarse voice, a tired voice, one that had been shouting and screaming and fighting for long enough for mouthing off on people to be second habit. Clarke Griffin was a fighter, and for some reason, it was making something deep in Lexa’s stomach squirm – and not entirely in a bad way. Maybe she had a little, grudging respect for the girl.

But somehow, that wasn’t the reason the blonde girl’s face wouldn’t leave her mind.

Sure, Clarke was a beautiful woman – Lexa had seen that the moment the blonde girl had walked in. She was slim, but stocky, muscular. Her hair, while a little dirty, was the kind of bright white-gold blonde that many of her rich clients payed big money to get dyed into their own locks. While still wild, the blonde tendrils fell with a kind of effortless, casual grace. Her face was round, her skin tanned. Her eyes had been tired, but they were bright and blue and alert and quite intelligent. Her mouth was set in a deep frown, plush lips arched disapprovingly. She smelt like vanilla somehow, but not the kind you could buy as perfume – a kind of scent mingled with sweat and a little grease. Lexa wondered now whether her skin tasted like it too.

Lexa braced a hand on the shower wall and berated herself, grinding her teeth. _What is wrong with you?_ She asked herself angrily. _This girl is nothing. You’re acting like an idiot._ Not that it mattered now. Not when she had absolutely no intention of choosing any of those women as her surrogate.

Lexa huffed and turned off the water. She was thankful she was still working – anything to take her mind off all this for a few hours a day. She could throw herself into her work tomorrow, be assured that even if she wasn’t entirely sure she was going to be a good mother yet, she was still a good lawyer.

She went out into the lounge room, pausing in the kitchen to throw a microwave meal on to heat up, before moving over to the coffee table. Gathering up the surrogate files, she piled them all together and dumped them inside an open filing cabinet near the desk in the corner of the room. She closed the cabinet and let out a sigh. Out of sight, out of mind – for now.

Of course, she was still going to have to tell Indra and Anya eventually. But, she supposed, she could cross that bridge when she came to it – namely, only tell them when there was an actual baby to speak of. They didn’t need to know now, she had enough to deal with without her sister’s disapproval. Because they did disapprove, despite Anya’s earlier efforts to help her. She could see now that neither Anya or Indra actual thought she’d be a good fit as a mother.

It was just another challenge, and Lexa had always risen to meet them before. She would prove to her sisters that she would make a good mother.

As the microwave bleeped, she was brought back to the present, where a slightly chilly and empty apartment surrounded her. Sighing again, she went over to the microwave, feeling altogether exhausted and already longing for the comfort of her bed.

 

* * * * *

 

Work, as Lexa had suspected, succeeded in distracting her from the decision at hand. She was deep in the middle of a big case. She’d put herself at the head of a hugely time consuming case on purpose, to keep her mind off _other_ things.

Not long ago, a high profile businessman had been convicted of murder. As the case for the prosecution went, the businessman had tried to kill a rival CEO with poison in a glass of wine of all things. The case had been up in the air for quite some time pending forensic evidence, and chemical analyses, but things were set to get intensive now the case was set to begin in earnest. She was due for a meeting with the client, a middle aged man with a deep set frown by the name of Gustus Natrona, at the prison he was being held at while pending his trial. The man was worth a significant amount of money, and the usual high-stakes feeling of pressure and adrenaline was beginning to kick-start in Lexa’s mind.

It wasn’t hard for her to click into lawyer mode – it was a mode she spent most of her life in.

As far as Gustus Natrona went, he was guilty – everyone in the world who even vaguely knew about the case could say with absolute surety that he was guilty. But, of course, it wasn’t Lexa’s business to question that. As far as her job was concerned, she could operate far more efficiently if she just assumed everyone she represented was innocent – and hey, many of them were. She prosecuted just as much as she defended. This once, though, it was going to take a little more effort than usual to assume innocence.

“So what does that mean, plea bargain?” Gustus snapped, frowning at her through the glass of the meeting room, a telephone pressed to the side of his face. The wire ran into the other side of the glass, where Lexa held the corresponding telephone.

“It’s just one of a couple of options,” Lexa explained smoothly. “We also have some mitigating factors we can explore, but I’m going to be realistic with you – I’m going to try to get you out of detention, but realistically I’m shooting for as little time behind bars as I can get.”

Gustus looked deflated, and a little annoyed. “What the fuck am I paying you for, then?”

“For exactly that,” Lexa said firmly, never one to joke around with privileged sociopaths. “If you want to dismiss me and hire at some other firm, you’re looking at 15 years. Maybe more.”

Gustus shifted uncomfortably. “Alright, fine. What’s the angle then.”

Lexa leaned forward. “You’re seeing a psychiatrist, yes? It said so in your records. You’ve been meeting with a Doctor Won for one and a half years.”

“Yeah, started seeing him after the divorce.” Gustus leaned forward too. “Think there’s something in that?”

Lexa chewed her lip thoughtfully. “Maybe. I’ll have to make some calls. If you were to ask Doctor Won to make a statement attesting to your being under a great deal of stress and acting erratically, do you think he’d comply?”

Gustus shrugged, crossing his arms. “Hard to say. I’m not exactly close with the guy.”

Lexa internally crossed that angle off a list in her head. “I’ll make some calls.” She said anyway.

The meeting finished up not long after, and while she had a few ideas, she wasn’t feeling overly motivated about the likelihood of great success for the case – Gustus Natrona was an awful, disgusting man and while her job was to keep him at large in society and her career demanded it, as a private citizen she found she was quite inclined to hope he rotted in prison.

With an hour or so to spare before she needed to be back into the office and start writing up some paperwork, Lexa took a bus back into the city and made her way over to a little corner sandwich shop that faced the park. This place had the best food in the area, it was famous for its steak sandwiches. Lexa ordered one along with a drink, before making her way across the road to find a park bench to relax in.

The park was quiet this time of day, a few groups of workers doing yoga in their lunch breaks, and a couple of people sitting cross legged on the grass reading or napping. Compared to the usually fast passed speed of her office, this place was almost painfully dull to Lexa, who thrived off the activity and progress. She ate quickly, watching the people around her. There was a fountain not too far from where she was sitting, with great statues of people standing amongst the spurting water jets, which made trickling sounds that seemed to resonate along with the _hush_ ing sounds of the trees. One statue was a man with horns, probably some mythological figure. The other was a woman holding a baby, and Lexa found herself staring at it.

She heard the voice before she saw its owner, but something about it made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.

Turning her head, Lexa swallowed hard at the sight of two people wandering up the pathway side by side. One was an unfamiliar man, dressed nicely casual in a dress shirt with black pants, the other was a very familiar blonde haired woman. She couldn’t make out what Clarke and the man were saying, but the path they walked would bring her right by her bench, there was no way they wouldn’t see her. Lexa forced herself to resist the urge to get up and leave. She had every right to be here.

Before they reached her bench, though, they paused to stand still and talk, Clarke’s face becoming more and more animated. Here, where she wasn’t stuck in an interview, there was some new light of comfort and ease that coloured her features, and somehow she looked even more beautiful. Lexa shook herself.

Then Clarke and the man were shaking hands and hugging, and the man was waving goodbye before moving off in the other direction. Lexa saw Clarke watch him go with a smile on her face. Then, without warning, she pumped her fist in the air triumphantly and laughed to herself, a private gesture that Lexa shouldn’t have seen. Lexa smiled despite herself, but then Clarke was walking this way, a sincerely worried look on her face, as though she were contemplating the deepest paradoxes of the universe. Lexa looked fixedly down at her sandwich. Maybe they wouldn’t even have to make eye contact. She heard the footsteps crunching dirt underfoot, closer and closer. She stared at her food, picking lettuce from the bread and shredding it in her fingers. She heard the footsteps stutter a little, as through Clarke had stumbled to a halt.

“Hello.”

Lexa looked up. Clarke was on the other side of the path, as far away as she could be, regarding Lexa with what could only be open hostility tinged with wariness. Lexa swallowed her food before speaking.

“Oh. Hello.”

Clarke started, as though she realised something. “Oh - you probably don't remember. I’m Clarke. I was one of the surrogates you interviewed.” Clarke spoke with such unapologetic confidence, and yet she actually thought that Lexa didn’t remember her.

“I remember.” Lexa said, lifting her chin. “You shouted at me.”

Clarke, to her credit, reddened a little. “That was me. I... I’m sorry about that.” The apology wasn’t sincere, more just something to say to contribute to the conversation – small talk, with no real meaning. Lexa caught herself wishing that Clarke would now talk like she had with the man from earlier, with abandon and without unease, none of this meaningless chatter.

“It’s fine,” Lexa said stiffly.

“It probably didn’t do me any favours.”

Lexa shrugged and made a non-committal noise. “I don’t suppose it did. Especially when I know for a fact you aren’t a doctor.”

Clarke’s eyes flashed. “How the hell would you – !?“

“I get files on all potential surrogates,” Lexa said quietly. “I knew.”

Clarke closed her eyes and breathed out, and when she opened her eyes again, they were glazing over dully with something like resignation or bitterness. It didn’t become her. “Well... I guess you have the other surrogates to pick from.” She shifted from foot to foot, glancing away as though she wanted nothing more than to end this conversation and run for the hills. Eying Lexa warily, she shrugged and started to move off. “Well – even if I’m not a part of the process, I hope you get your baby, Ms. Woods.” She waved, before starting to walk away. “Have a nice day.”

“You too.” Lexa watched Clarke Griffin walk away, her head bowed a little. Something had just now taken root deep in her stomach, warm and tight and not altogether unwelcome. She swallowed down a dry throat and pursed her lips, taking in the bouncing locks of blonde that were now receding from view, her footsteps now fading under the incessant sound of the nearby fountain.

Lexa was on her feet in a few steps, moving forward swiftly. “Clarke!”

Far up ahead, Clarke paused, turning back and frowning at Lexa. They walked towards one another, Lexa slightly out of breath by the time they were face to face again. She barely had time to get out what she wanted to say before she stopped herself. “I think you should come over for dinner at my apartment. To talk.”

Clarke’s eyebrows rose. “About the surrogacy?”

“About the surrogacy.” Lexa nodded.

Clarke stared at her for a few moments, and under that intense gaze – no longer hostile but thoughtful and piercing – Lexa felt some kind of spell settle over her. She was still and powerless to do anything other than stare back, keeping her features schooled into something resembling neutrality. Clarke stared into her, blue gaze blazing with something that felt like a burning question scalding deep into Lexa’s insides. Finally, Clarke broke the spell by speaking. “Okay. I’ll do it.”

Lexa let out a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding. “Good.”

“I can’t do tonight. Tomorrow night, though.”

“Perfect. Seven?”

“Okay.”

“Okay.” Lexa nodded. She pulled a notebook from her bag, scribbling down her address and handing it to Clarke. Clarke took it tentatively.

Clarke nodded once before backing away a few steps, still staring. Finally, she shook her head with a small, thoughtful smile before turning around and continuing to walk, without looking back. Lexa watched her go, watched her until she disappeared from sight, around the bend behind some bushes.

Only then did Lexa pull out her mobile phone and press the dial button, holding the device to her ear. “Lincoln?”

“Hey, Lex, what’s going on?”

“I think I just made a decision.”

 

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter - Clarke can't bear to give Wells bad news and maybe she doesn't have to, because it's dinner date time! :D

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N - As ever, eternal thanks for the feedback, I love hearing people's thoughts - I hope all of you are doing well, and having a great day <3

 

 

 

 

_CHAPTER FOUR_

 

Clarke managed to haul twelve cardboard boxes full of crap up the stairs of the grungy apartment building before three in the afternoon, which was when the removalist driver had insisted he take his van and leave. He left the rest of the boxes downstairs in the foyer of the building, for Finn and Clarke to haul up at their leisure. Well, not quite at their ‘leisure,’ because there was nothing leisurely about the way they had been working, like pack animals, since they’d arrived.

The first time Clarke had walked into this new apartment, she had felt the air leave her. “This one’s even smaller than the last one,” she said, dismayed, as she took in the single room that contained their lounge room, kitchen, laundry and bedroom. A small, flimsy wooden partition sectioned off the bathroom, but the entire thing was essentially one room. Finn had grunted in response. He’d barely spoken to her since the interview, instead disappearing for days on end and only coming back to sleep, or to snap at her.

This move was an expected one. At this stage, there was nothing ever surprising about a landlord telling them they were to pack their bags and get out, or leaving an eviction notice on their door. They merely shrugged and turned to the next seedy apartment block. Such had been life for most of their twenties.

This apartment block, unfortunately, was more seedy even than usual. There were dark marks staining the walls and rot on the roof, which Finn proceeded to photograph with his phone - they’d been accused of wrecking already decrepit apartments before, they knew how this song and dance went. They set up the lounge, the TV and the rest of the bigger furniture, but left most of their other belongings in boxes, stacked in corners.

It took all evening to sort everything out and drag it all up to the fourth floor, where their new apartment was. After they were done, Clarke ordered Chinese and they went back to their usual routine of silence.

Finn settled on the couch and scowled at the TV petulantly, stubbornly refusing to look her in the eye.

Clarke hadn’t had a chance to tell him about what had happened at the park that afternoon, but now seemed as good a time as any. “Hey, Finn?”

Finn grunted.

“I met that woman at the park today. Ran into her.”

He grunted again. “What woman?” he grunted.

“That Woods woman. The one who interviewed us.”

Finn’s gaze snapped over to her, his mouth a tight, pursed line. “Yeah?”

Clarke smirked at him. “I’m going to dinner at her apartment tomorrow night. To talk about a baby.”

Finn’s eyes widened. “Holy _shit,”_ he said, standing up and walking over to her. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah,” Clarke grinned.

“That’s what I’m talking about, babe!” Finn barked, delighted, pulling her in for a tight hug. He stunk of cigarettes. “We’re back in business!”

“ _Maybe,”_ Clarke said tensely, pulling away from him. “I don’t want to assume anything. It might just be another interview or something – but it’s good news.”

“Damn right!” Finn grinned. “This is great – you’ve gotta wow her, babe. You’ve gotta make her think you’re as high brow as she is. Make her think you’re one of those Upper East Side types too, okay?”

Shaking her head, Clarke frowned. “I’m not going to lie to her again. She knew I wasn’t a Doctor, she had a file on me. I think I should just tell her the truth – I’m not going to tell her _everything,_ I’m just not gonna lie to her if she asks me a question. That seem fair?”

Finn shrugged. “Whatever babe, to be honest it’s looking pretty good already.” He went over and sat back down on the couch. “Just don’t yell at her again, and I bet it’s a done deal.”

Clarke smiled back, without saying anything, and Finn quickly returned his attention to the TV. Her mouth slipping into a frown, she move over to the pile of boxes near the teeny tiny little pseudo-bathroom in the corner of the apartment. She chose not to tell Finn what she’d been doing at the park today in the first place, and of course Finn didn’t ask.

In truth, she’d called Wells and asked him to meet him at the park for lunch so she could tell him that she wouldn’t be able to go in on the gallery. She’d wrestled with the decision, having had a sleepless night last night. Telling herself to think about it logically and practically, she really didn’t have any other option – _maybe,_ just maybe she could have gotten another job to somehow make up the money for the first payment in three months. But no miracle would have seen her have the rest of the money by the time the gallery was finished and the opening exhibition rolled around. It was time to stop kidding herself, without this surrogacy gig, which she’d been certain she’d blown for good, there was no way she was going to be able to see her paintings hung in any gallery. Ever. The plan was to break it to Wells and get out of there, in time to help pack boxes for the removalist van, who was coming after lunch.

Then she’d got to the park and Wells had beamed at her so enthusiastically, and he’d told her with the air of a man delivering earth-shakingly great news, that the realtors had put all the paperwork though, that the warehouse was theirs. Apparently they were trying to save money by doing most of the work themselves, but the builders they were going to hire to do the things they couldn’t do on their own had been locked in. He showed her the floor plan for the proposed gallery, and where each of them would have space to exhibit. He had even started to show Clarke sketches of flyers he was thinking of getting printed up to be handed out around the city. His enthusiasm was painfully clear.

“Here’s where a picture of one of your paintings will go,” Wells said with a grin, pointing to a page in his sketchbook. “There’s a spot for each of us to show one of our pieces, and our names will be printed here. And on the back – “ he flipped a page in the sketchbook. “This is where the exhibition name will go.” He glanced up to her, grinning. “I was thinking about _Seasons,_ for the name.”

“Seasons?” Clarke tilted her head a little. “Why?”

“Well, I figured that there’s four of us altogether, and if you look at all our stuff side by side, the name makes a lot of sense,” Wells explained, tapping the sketchbook. “You’ll have to come by my studio in the next couple of days, it’s where we’re keeping our paintings until they’re ready to hang. You’ve gotta meet the other guys and see their work.” He shook himself with a small laugh. “But hey, here I am getting all carried away! You said you had something important to say to me when you were on the phone – it sounds big, what’s up?”

Clarke’s mouth snapped shut and she swallowed hard. “Just... I... I wanted to let you know that I’m moving places. This afternoon, actually. I’ll... I’ll send you my new address as soon as I can.”

Wells looked confused, but smiled anyway. “Oh – okay. How come, just a change of scenery?”

“Yeah, something like that,” Clarke said vaguely.

“Well, its fine, just let me know your new address.” Wells said easily. “I guess I’ll give you a few days to settle in, but you’ve definitely got to come by soon and see all the other paintings that’re going to be in the exhibition. But first, you _have_ to come around to see the warehouse.”

“I’d like that,” Clarke said earnestly. “Maybe – Wednesday?”

“I’m busy in the morning, but come by in the afternoon?” Wells replied. “I’ll text you the address.”

“Sounds good,” Clarke said firmly, now smiling too. Wells reached out his hand and she shook it with a laugh. Then he pulled her in for a tight hug, and he was waving goodbye.

It had been too easy to get drawn in by Wells’ enthusiasm and grand plans, she was filled with a sudden euphoria and excitement, and she couldn’t help the little fist-pump and giggle that escaped her. Suddenly conscious that she was in a public space, though, she’d berated herself. It wasn’t long before the smile slid from her face, and she was feeling the gnawing pit of anxiety and hopelessness in her stomach again.

This had been a perfect time to back out. She knew she wasn’t going to make up the money before the final deadline, and yet she had said nothing. Her mind reeling, Clarke’s brow furrowed as she struggled to come up with some way to get a hold of the money. She was already working as many shifts at McDonalds as she could possibly muster. She could get another job, to fill in the time she wasn’t already working at McDonalds. Then a job at night, even. She could sleep on buses and trains, she didn’t even need to go home, really. What was home, anyway, but a place where Finn was and an uncomfortable mattress?

Something else edged into her thoughts, some other idea that took no time at all to take root. It sickened her to her core, but she took quick stock of her own desperation – yeah, she would do anything for the money at this point. Finn had done his stint at Juvenile detention for holding up a gas station. He’d been caught because one of the guys he was with was supposed to be a lookout, had freaked out and bailed, and hadn’t been there to warn them when the police had pulled up and cornered them. The thing was, though, that Finn had held up gas stations and corner stores no less than twice before he got caught. Plus, he’d done it a couple more times as an adult, never getting caught. He hadn’t done it in many years, but Clarke wondered what he’d say if she told him that she would help him if he wanted to do it again. She wondered if he’d be willing. At this point, it felt like nothing else was going to work. She felt suddenly sickened – if that was what it was going to take to get that kind of money, wouldn’t it be worth it?

And then Lexa had been there, and suddenly she felt hopeful and relieved all over again.

She unpacked the boxes of toiletries that were blocking off the entrance to the tiniest bathroom in the universe, and piled the empty boxes in the back of the lounge area. It was by far the smallest apartment they’d stayed in for a long time. Tiny places like this often tested their relationship, mainly because Clarke hated being cooped up like this and often became snappy and short-tempered. Finn, who hated being talked back to, became similarly irritable.

They went to bed early, tired from the move, and when Clarke woke up the next day, Finn had left. She sighed, not really surprised by this sort of thing anymore. She had breakfast slowly, taking stock of the day. She was working at McDonalds for most of the day, managing to land a nice long shift when one of the other full time workers called in sick. Hopefully she would finish at four and be home by five, giving her about an hour to get ready for dinner at Lexas, and another hour to get there. It was going to be rough, but she’d manage.

Before she left, she laid out what she was going to wear, and also fished her eons-old makeup bag and set it down on the bed too. She wasn’t going to have time to go rummaging through boxes when she got back.

The day ended up being a long one, and she only managed to escape work at around quarter past five. From there, sweaty and greasy, she had to make a sprint for a bus and then sit in impatience and anxiety as the bus seemed to take centuries to get to her stop. All but leaping off the bus, she sprinted the rest of the way home rather than taking the second bus that would have gotten her closer to the apartment block – the way the traffic was going, waiting for the next bus would have been slower anyway.

She burst into the apartment, and Finn was already there. He looked at her with horror. “Oh my god – are you going to have time to fix yourself up?”

She checked the time – It was already ten past six. It was going to take an hour at least to make it to Lexa’s. All but running over to the bed and picking up the dress she’d left out, she shoved the makeup aside – there wasn’t going to be time. Throwing on the dress, she picked up her bag again and barely had the presence of mind to bark a quick “goodbye” at Finn, and hear his reply of “be nice to her! Think of the money!” before she was sprinting down the stairs again. She checked her watch again. Twenty past. With a strangled noise, she tore out to the bus bay. “Think of the money, C!” She heard Finn yell as she sprinted down the stairs, taking them four at a time.

The bus was late, of course. The other people waiting at the stop were watching her with bemusement as she paced back and forward, muttering under her breath. She knew full well how insane she looked, and that wasn’t helped by the fact that when she saw the bus turn the corner towards the stop, she let out a yelp of relief. One other woman at the stop edged away from her nervously. Clarke could hardly blame her.

Traffic hadn’t quietened from earlier, there were still scores of people trying desperately to make their way home in the muggy mess that was the inner city during rush hour (why was it that rush hour in the city always seemed to encompass several hours?) Some ways into the trip, she hesitantly checked her watch again, and winced. It was seven now.

In the end, she only ended up being twenty minutes late. Which, all things considered, was a miracle.

Lexa lived on a street with rows upon rows of regal looking cream coloured terrace houses, shaded by large green trees. It was a peaceful little idyll of a place, and Clarke had to force herself to look for Lexa’s address instead of marvel at the architecture, and admire how the dappled shadows of the light through the trees fell softly upon the panels on the building’s facades. It was beautiful, she thought, and if she ever had the time she could spend days here drawing it.

The address Lexa had given her took her to a nice looking apartment block, different to the surrounding houses, but equally as nice and picturesque. Clarke approached the main door, a great towering glass thing framed with polished wood that shone gold in the evening light. Her brow furrowing, she glanced over at the panel of buttons on one side of the door. Clarke had to take another look at the piece of paper with Lexa’s address on it to find out which apartment she was in. Number 6. The penthouse. Of course. She poked the button. There was a short, sharp buzzing noise.

“Hello?” The tinny but familiar voice barked down the line through the speaker.

“Ms Woods, hi, its Clarke.” Clarke said uneasily. “I’m sorry I’m late.”

“Oh. Yes, it’s fine. Come on up.”

There was another buzz, and a huff from the door, as though pressure had been released. Sure enough, when Clarke tried the door, it opened easily. She moved into a foyer that had to have been more marble and polished stone than it was anything else. There was a concierge behind a solid stone desk in the corner, and the man there looked her up and down with a frown. Choosing not to acknowledge him, she lifted her chin and moved over to the elevator.

Of course, the elevator was beautiful too. It had gold trim around red velvet half-walls, above which the mirrors were polished and shone beyond belief. Clarke took the opportunity to check herself in the mirrored walls, something she should have done earlier but hadn’t since this morning. Her eyes widening at the marks of grease on her face, she rubbed at them frantically, leaving red marks. She looked exhausted, her eyes tired and her hair wild and unruly. Some make up would have gone a long way, but she tried to fool herself into thinking she didn’t need it. In any case, there was nothing she could do about any of it now, except smell her own breath and hope she didn’t smell too much like McDonalds.

The elevator dinged and deposited her on the top floor, with only one door on this level leading into Apartment six. She moved over to the door (wooden, with ornate carvings and a shining gold ‘6’ on it,) and knocked.

Lexa opened it almost at once, pausing for a moment as her eyes widened the tiniest amount, met with the sight of a haggard looking Clarke. “Hello.”

“Hi,” Clarke said, straightening up and walking inside as Lexa’s invitation. “I’m very sorry I’m late. I got caught up at work, then the bus was late, and – “

“Its fine,” Lexa said, almost serenely. “Dinner hasn’t arrived yet anyway. It’s been over an hour and a half, I should probably call about it.”

Clarke stared at her in surprise. “You’re ordering food?”

“Yes,” Lexa said, and a flash of something like uncertainty crossed her face. “Indian. Is that acceptable?”

“Uh. Yeah,” Clarke shrugged.

Lexa blinked at her, her brow furrowing for a moment as though she were trying to work something out, as though Clarke had bewildered her. “Give me a moment,” she said, walking past Clarke into the main part of the apartment. “I’ll call the Indian restaurant, it’s been too long now.”

Clarke followed her, and tried to pick up her jaw from where it fell as she took in the apartment. There was a wide, enormous lounge area with a long, semi-circle shaped couch that curled around a coffee table and the most enormous TV that Clarke had ever been in the presence of. There was a dining area in the back, near to one of the main walls which comprised entirely of glass, a door leading out to a little balcony. She walked slowly over to it, taking in the magazines (national geographic,) spread on the coffee table, and the overcrowded bookshelf near the dining table. When she reached the glass door to the balcony, she stared out at the view – townhouses in the foreground, central park and skyscrapers in the distance, she could only stare at awe. The sunset was casting long blue shadows across the city, and the big glass buildings in the distance were catching beads of white-gold light and shining it in beams across the city. It was bewilderingly beautiful, and Clarke wanted to paint it more than anything else in the world.

“That can’t be right,” Lexa was saying into the phone, and Clarke turned back to watch her. On the opposite side of the gargantuan apartment, near to the front door, there was an exquisite marble kitchen. It was a chef’s kitchen with all the tools and heavy duty cooking appliances to cater for a party of forty. With only Lexa standing there in that enormous kitchen, phone pressed to her ear and her brow furrowed, she looked almost lonely. Clarke looked her up and down. She looked as professional as she had when Clarke had first met her, with a clean white business shirt on with black pants, the sleeves of the shirt popped to the elbows to reveal tanned forearms. “Alright, fine. Yes, alright. Goodbye.” Lexa put the phone down, sour expression on her face. “Their delivery car has broken down.” She said petulantly. “They can’t make deliveries. I’ll drive over and – “

“What food do you have in?” Clarke asked, interrupting her.

“What? Not much, just the basics, I suppose.”

“I’ll cook.” Clarke said, crossing the apartment again.

Lexa looked bewildered. “No, its fine, I’ll just – “

Clarke waved a hand to silence her as she moved into the kitchen. “Have you seen the traffic? It’ll take you over an hour to get anywhere. It’ll be five times faster and twice as pleasant if you just let me cook.”

Pulling open the fridge, Clarke heard Lexa shift nervously. “I don’t have much. I’m not much of a chef...”

“Neither am I,” Clarke said, opening up the pantry and plucking out some dried pasta. “But I’m damn good at making something out of nothing.” It was true. She’d worked with far less than this before. Any time she’d wanted to cook for herself and Finn, she had only the most paltry of ingredients to work with. During the days she spent unemployed, she’d borrow library books about cooking on a budget and read them. They paid off, Finn was an exultant fan of her cooking, and it was all the more satisfying when she’d only used three or four ingredients to start with. She found a pasta sauce jar in the pantry, so there wouldn’t be too much creativity needed - with all the stuff in Lexa’s kitchen, she was confident she’d be able to make a pretty decent pasta meal.

Lexa hovered at the edge of the kitchen nervously, as though not knowing what to do with herself. Filling a pot with water and putting it on the stove to boil, Clarke glanced over at her and nodded at one of the bar stools on the other side of the island counter. “Why don’t you sit down? This won’t take that long, but there’s no point waiting around.”

Taking a seat, Lexa blinked over at her, watching her with interest. “Do you enjoy cooking?”

“Not really,” Clarke said, taking out a second pot. She checked in the fridge once more, and spied some partially frozen mincemeat, and tomatoes, as well as some onions. Jackpot! “But If you do it often enough, you get good at it. And by good, I mean passable.”

The corner of Lexa’s mouth twitched. “You’re doing better than me. I only keep food here for... for when my family comes around.”

Clarke glanced over at her. “Does your family cook?”

“My family does a lot of things.” Lexa leaned forward, bracing her elbows on the bench. “Are you close to _your_ family?”

Clarke smiled briefly, wistfully. “I’m an only child, my mom lives across the country. I try to call her, but she... I don’t think she agrees with many of the choices I’ve made.” Clarke switching her major had been a day of disappointment for Abby Griffin. The day Abby found out about Finn was an even bigger day of disappointment.

“And your father?”

“Died when I was little.”

Lexa paused. “I’m sorry.”

Clarke smiled kindly and shook her head, rolling her eyes in a ‘don’t-be-stupid’ kind of way. “It was a long time ago.” She turned to look at the stove as the water began boiling. She started feeding the pasta into it. The other pot, in which the mince was thawing and heating, was starting to get hot now, the mince going soft. She poked it with a wooden spoon she plucked from a drawer. “What about you? What about your family?”

Lexa hesitated for a long moment, as though she were considering deflecting the question. She certainly didn’t seem like the sharing type. But then she said in a tense voice, “I have a sister, a step-sister and a cousin. That’s about it for close family.”

“Nice,” Clarke smiled, and she surprised herself when it was a genuine smile. “It’s nice to have family so close by. Makes me wish I had a sibling.”

Lexa stared at her for what seemed like years before speaking. “Siblings aren’t all that great sometimes.”

Clarke crossed her arms, leaning against the counter with the pots in the corner of her eye. “Tell me about them.”

Lexa seemed to withdraw a little, looking away. “There’s nothing to tell. Maybe we should talk about something else.”

“Okay,” Clarke shrugged, turning back to the stove and stirring the pasta. She poked the meat another couple times and, when it was soft, started mashing it. “What about your job? Did you always want to be a lawyer?”

“Since I was a child,” Lexa said. “Yes.”

Clarke made an impressed sound. “You were one of those high-achieving kids, weren’t you.”

“Yes.” Lexa said, completely serious. Chuckling a little, Clarke poured some pasta sauce into the meat pot, stirring it as it simmered. Lexa’s next question, though, disarmed her. “What did you want to be as a child?”

“A Doctor,” Clarke said at once. It’s not like it was a closely guarded personal secret, the twinge of regret and embarrassment she used to get when she thought about how much she wanted to be a doctor as a kid had been gone for years.

Lexa’s eyebrows rose and she actually laughed. “Really?”

Clarke’s face was serious. “I was pre-med in college.”

Now Lexa’s features arranged into something akin to disbelief. “How come you – I mean – How did you – Why...”

“How did I end up flipping burgers?” Clarke interrupted, but then stopped. Something about the idea of telling Lexa about her art made her uneasy. Telling her about the Doctor thing was easy – she’d _chosen_ not to follow through with becoming a Doctor, so there was nothing embarrassing about it. But Art? She’d put her everything into art, her heart and soul went into those paintings that were in a box in the apartment somewhere. That was _her_ failure, her personal failure, and she just couldn’t tell Lexa about it, for reasons she couldn’t really explain. Maybe because she wanted Lexa to like her, to respect her. “Who knows,” she finished lamely. “I guess... I guess jobs just weren’t going when I graduated.”

Lexa fixed that piercing stare at her again, and Clarke resisted the urge to shiver. Lexa had bright eyes, she didn’t know why she’d thought they were dark when they’d first met. Those eyes were alive with thought and intelligence, and they bore into her now, as though Lexa knew that she wasn’t telling the entire truth. Then again, Lexa hadn’t told the truth about her family, she had no right to force the truth from Clarke.

Clarke took the food off the heat, fishing around in cupboards to find a pair of bowls. She poured the pasta, sauce and meat into it, putting the leftovers into an empty Chinese container she found in the pantry. “Soups on,” she said quietly, and Lexa moved wordlessly into the kitchen to take a pair of forks from a drawer. They both reached for the bowls at the same time, and almost knocked into one another. Clarke backed off, looking away, and led the way over to the dining area. Lexa followed, putting the bowls and forks down on opposite settings, so they were facing each other across the table. Clarke took the place that faced the window – night had fallen and the lights in the kitchen were on, and she could see the lights from the city beyond sparkling in the distance. She could also see their reflection in the dark glass, and she winced at her ragged appearance once more. “Aren’t you afraid people can see in through the glass?” She wondered, more to herself than anything else.

Lexa shrugged anyway, sitting down. “It’s tinted on the other side. A bit of light might get through, but what does it matter? It’s not like I’m doing anything private in here.”

“You should always do private things in private places.” Clarke said absently, as she began to eat. Lexa was staring at her with that penetrating look again, and it made Clarke pause, her mouth open and food halfway to her mouth. “What?”

“Nothing,” Lexa said quietly, twirling pasta around her fork. “Just... it’s a funny thing to say.”

“No, it’s not.” Clarke said, quite forgetting she shouldn’t be talking with food in her mouth in a place like this, and with company like this. She hesitated, swallowing, before turning sheepish eyes to her host. “We... we should probably talk surrogacy.” Somehow, it was too easy to forget what she was actually doing here, that she was here to talk business and not have a pleasant meal with a friend. Not that Lexa was a friend, but still.

Lexa started, and nodded sincerely. “Yes.”

Clarke wiped sauce from the corner of her mouth. “What are you thinking? About it, I mean?”

Lexa took a moment to swallow her mouthful of food. “I’m thinking that I want you to be my surrogate.”

Becoming still at once, Clarke stared over to the other woman, her eyes finding Lexa’s. She swallowed hard. “Do you mean that?”

“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t.” Lexa said firmly.

Clarke stared at her, long enough for even her own mind to be berating her for gawking. Lexa didn’t seem to mind, though, staring back through eyes that had softened somehow, as though they were still thinking, but not nearly as hard, or with such violent hostility and confusion. Clarke cleared her throat. “Can I ask you a personal question?”

Lexa froze. “Is it an important question?”

“The most important.”

She shifted, brow furrowing. “What is it?” Her voice was quiet.

Clarke leaned forward, her elbows on the table. “Why do you want a baby?”

It shouldn’t have been a difficult question, not really. All the same, Lexa’s eyes turned hard again, and her lips pursed. Clarke could all but feel her receding from the conversation. “I...” Lexa seemed to hesitate. “I want a baby because...” She looked almost angry – not at Clarke, but at herself.

“I’m sorry.” Clarke said quietly. “You don’t have to answer that.”

“I do,” Lexa said, even quieter now.

“Not to me, then.” A few moments of silence passed, and Lexa seemed to turn even more inward, picking at her pasta and shredding it before poking bits of it into her mouth. Clarke put her fork down. “I’d be honoured to be your surrogate.” She said firmly.

Lexa met her gaze and smiled, a small honest smile that made the light in her eyes glitter. “You have no idea how happy it makes me to hear you say that.” She put her own fork down. “For... for the procedure, I was thinking maybe Wednesday. If you’re available then.”

Clarke blinked. So soon, Wednesday was only two days away. “Oh. Uh, yeah. What’s the drill here, when will we be filling out the paperwork and everything?” That was the goal – focus on the paperwork, nail down the payment. _Eyes on the prize,_ she could almost hear Finn saying.

“I can have the paperwork ready by then. I can email it to you for you to read over by Tuesday morning, and then have a hard copy for us both to sign on Wednesday before the procedure.” So efficient, like the hands of a clock moving with exact purpose. _She is a lawyer,_ Clarke told herself. _This is probably the part of the whole process she feels most comfortable with._

“Sounds good to me,” Clarke nodded with a small smile.

It wasn’t long after that they finished their meals in comfortable silence. Lexa seemed to recede into her own little world, and Clarke felt somehow that even if she’d tried to make conversation, there was no breaking through those walls. They exchanged phone numbers all the same, and Lexa told her to call anytime. After dinner, she checked her watch. Nine-forty five, Finn would be getting worried. “I should take off,” she told Lexa, after assisting to bring the bowls and cutlery to the sink, and helping to wash them up.

Lexa nodded. “Okay.”

They moved over to the front door, and Lexa stopped Clarke before she opened the door with a hand on her arm. “Clarke,” Clarke turned around to face her. “Thank you. For cooking and... and for everything.”

Clarke smiled. “No problem, Ms. Woods.” She nudged Lexa gently. “I guess we’re really doing this!” She chuckled.

A fleeting smile crossed Lexa’s face. “Call me Lexa,” she said firmly.

“Okay. Lexa.” Clarke said, trying it out.

“How are you getting home?” Lexa wondered, as Clarke opened the door, shivering and lamenting that she forgot a coat in her rush to get here.

“Bus,” she said absently, rubbing her arms to thaw the goosebumps there.

Lexa froze. “At this time of night?”

Clarke shrugged. “It’s not so late. I do it all the time.”

Leaning back inside, Lexa snatched up a ring with some keys on it, including car keys. “I will drive you.” She said firmly, definitely.

“No, I – “

“Don’t argue,” Lexa barked. “You cooked, the least I can do is drive you home.”

Clarke sighed and shrugged. “If you insist.”

Of course Lexa had a nice car. Not necessarily an expensive car, but a classic one, one that had more style than it had flash. It looked like it couldn’t have been made any time after the seventies, but it looked new and pristine, metal panels shining in the moonlight as Lexa steered it out of the underground parking lot below the apartment block. Clarke crossed her legs and arms in the passenger seat as the car rumbled out onto the road, as though she wanted to avoid touching as much of the interior as possible. It was less pristine inside, but not dirty or overly worn.

“Where do you live again?” Lexa wondered aloud. “I know it was on your information sheet, but I can’t quite remember the details.” Clarke told her the address, and Lexa’s brow furrowed. “I don’t remember that being on the sheet.”

“I moved,” Clarke said, trying to sound casual. “quite recently.”

“Alright,” Lexa said, and left it at that.

They drove in silence for the most part, Clarke turning to stare out the passenger window at the lights outside. She’d always loved the city at night. Sometimes, back when she’d first moved here armed with her shining dreams of artistic success, she’d go out at night just to walk and bathe in the lights of the city, lit up in vivid colours in the darkness. She knew just how she’d paint them, with great daubs of saturated colours smeared across a canvas darkened by shades of deep blue. For some reason, she always recalled these colours as hazy, unfocused, but maybe that was because she always saw them through weary, sleepy eyes. Just the sight of them made her feel like she was floating in hazy sleepiness. In hindsight, going out at night alone the way she used to do was wildly dangerous. Now though, her face lit by the flickering colours of neon lights, she watched the buildings and streets pass by in safety and warmth.

And then Lexa’s hand was on her shoulder, and she was jolting awake. “I’m sorry,” she said at once, squinting and rubbing her eyes. _When did I fall asleep?!_ She shook her head and pinched the bridge of her nose. She could feel a headache coming on. Glancing out the window, she saw that they had arrived at her apartment block. “I’m sorry, I... I guess I’m tired.”

“It’s alright,” Lexa said, with more warmth than Clarke had ever heard her talk. Maybe she wasn’t the only one who was tired.

Clarke opened the door and smiled over at the driver’s side. “Thanks for the lift.” She said honestly. “I really do appreciate it.”

“It’s not a problem,” Lexa said firmly. “I’ll let you know the details for Wednesday soon, once I make the booking.”

“Great,” Clarke nodded, climbing out of the car. “See you then.”

“Bye,”

“Bye,” Clarke closed the door, and turned to walk over to the building entrance. She was sincerely glad she hadn’t had to catch the bus home – it was freezing out here, and so warm in the car. Pulling open the heavy front door to the apartment block, she noticed that Lexa’s car was still idling by the curb, the woman still sitting and watching her get in. Clarke smiled over and waved as she pulled the door closed behind her.

Taking the stairs two at a time, she managed to get up to the fourth floor in record time, her heart beating fast with excitement. She set about fishing her keys out of her bag to open the door, but Finn flung the door open as soon as he heard her outside.

“Well?” He demanded, eyes wide and excited.

Clarke grinned. “It’s happening.”

Finn let out a yell of joy and wrapped his arms around her, lifting and spinning her around as she laughed. Staggering into the apartment, she pulled the door closed. “So what happens now?” He asked as she moved over to the bed area and rummaged around in one of the cardboard boxes for some pyjamas. “Is that it, is it a done deal?”

“I think so,” Clarke said, pulling off her dress. It had been a long time since she’d cared whether Finn saw her getting changed. “She’s sending me the contract sometime soon. Then I sign it, and the operation’s on Wednesday.”

“Wednesday’s so soon,” Finn said, smiling. “This is awesome, C. Oh, but with the contract, make sure you skip to the money part. Find out when we’re getting paid.”

“Oh,” Clarke said, a little startled. “I guess I didn’t really ask about the money. Hopefully it’s half now and half when the baby’s born.”

“I’d like it better if it was all now.” Finn said, crossing his arms.

“Yeah, right,” Clarke scoffed. “She’s a lawyer, as if she’s dumb enough to do that. Half of it is more than enough for now. It’ll give me enough to nearly cover my whole share of the warehouse – definitely the deposit for the trades, in any case.”

Finn, shrugged and his brow furrowed, as if the thought of the gallery annoyed him. It didn’t matter though, because Clarke was officially a surrogate now, and that meant she was officially an artist. Clarke hadn’t seen her work up on a wall since the student exhibition just before she’d graduated college. It had been so long ago, and she had forgotten how it felt to see people look at her paintings as though they were important, there to be thought about and analysed. She would do anything to have that feeling again, and now she was so close she could taste it. She would do anything to see this warehouse become a gallery, and see her paintings inside it.

She went to sleep that night smelling fresh paint, the way she used to do when she was living, breathing and dreaming art, before she’d lost all hope.

This, tonight, was the beginning of something new and amazing. She was more sure of that than she had been sure of anything for years.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this Chapter - Lexa shares the good news with her family, and the big day dawns!

 

 

_CHAPTER FIVE_

 

The night Lexa emailed the surrogacy contract to Clarke, the blonde haired girl showed up in her dream.

It was strange, Lexa could remember thinking, even while unconscious. She hadn’t dreamed since she was a child, especially not this lucidly. But she could clearly see a smiling face through the haze of sleep, a face that was altogether familiar. Clarke was saying something, but of course Lexa couldn’t hear what it was. The dream was bright, all blown out colours and blinding lights. When she woke from it, she didn’t know what to feel.

That was new too. When had she ever not known how to feel?

When the sun rose, and she got up to go to work, she put it down to nerves. Tomorrow was Wednesday, and tomorrow was the day her life would begin to change. It was melodramatic, she knew, but when she looked around her empty apartment, and imagined someone else here, running around furniture and squealing the way Anya’s kids used to do when they were small and Anya brought them over, she couldn’t help but smile. What’s more, when she thought about the fact that the person she was trusting to bring her child into the world was Clarke Griffin, her smile widened. She had been so worried about getting a surrogate who was impersonal and overly professional about the entire proceeding – for the first time in her life, she was uncertain and a little scared. And for that she needed a friend, not a business partner.

The contract hadn’t been anything too surprising, or at least she hoped not. She kept the format and language as easy to understand as possible, the last thing she wanted was for Clarke to misunderstand anything. At the same time, though, she was still a lawyer, and it was in her nature to be thorough. The first part outlined what was going to happen, briefly, in simple terms. The next part went over the matters of money. She had written that she would be covering all medical expenses, which was expected and she felt no animosity about – it was her baby, of course she would cover any costs associated with the pregnancy. She also outlined the payment for the surrogacy service itself. A certain percentage went to the agency, but most of the hefty sum went straight to Clarke – well, in portions. Half now, half upon once the birth was done seemed fair.

Writing the money part had left a strange taste in Lexa’s mouth. For the first time in her life, she was letting herself feel a little sentimental, and the fact that Clarke, the one upon whom the entire operation hinged, was being paid to be there seemed strange. Of course, Clarke was only doing this for the money. _Why else would anyone become a surrogate?_ Lexa asked herself reasonably. Surely there could be surrogates in the world that did what they did for the love of bringing new life into the world, and helping out a childless woman. Then again, there was always the huge sum of money, and that couldn’t be a bad motivator either. She told herself she was being stupid – Clarke might seem easy-going and kind in the way a friend might be, but _technically,_ she kind of _was_ a business partner in all this. No interest in anything but the money that it would result in.

Finally, the last part of the contract outlined what would happen after the birth. Lexa had had to do quite a bit of googling and even calling the agency to write this part. Eventually, she just had to shrug and write – upon the birth, the child would have no further contact with the surrogate. The surrogate would relinquish all familial and genetic claim over the child. Payment would be made, and the surrogate’s role in the child’s life would end. She had heard too many stories of surrogates claiming the babies they gave birth to, and even if she was being overly suspicious, it was still worth doing.

That was the way it worked, Lexa told herself easily – Clarke was being hired for a service and, once it was performed, she would leave. It was just like getting a haircut.

Well. Kind of.

In any case, tomorrow would be The Big Day. So, for perhaps the first time in her entire life, Lexa arrived at work on Tuesday morning with her mind somewhere other than her job. Her co-workers stared at her as she walked through the office pen toward her private office, as though they could somehow sense that her heart wasn’t fully into it today. The reason for this became clear, though, when she got to her office and realised she was wearing jeans instead of dress pants. She stared down at her legs with furrowed brows, as if she blamed the legs themselves rather than her own distractedness. Eventually she shrugged and sat down behind her desk. It’s not like she had any meetings scheduled today, what did it matter what she wore behind her own desk?

She started out on some paperwork she had to get finished for next week, but found herself opening the internet browser on her computer, and opening some bookmarked web pages. Most of them were message boards for new mothers, sharing horror stories and tips about anything from quieting a crying newborn to how to get a kid enrolled in a good school before their first birthday. Some of them were reviews of cribs, changing tables and baby toys, which she read with complete concentration – her baby would only have the safest and best of everything, of course.

It’s not like she was slacking off – she had most of her paperwork done well in advance, she was renowned for her extreme punctuality around the office. The fact was that today, Lexa was having a great deal of trouble concentrating on her job. It was a strange feeling, but she wasn’t altogether uncomfortable with it. She’d always had a kind of single-minded determination when it came to her work – her work was her life. It was kind of nice to have something else to think about.

As lunch time rolled along, Lexa managed to get a bit of work done, and a few emails replied to. It was a quiet day, at least, and she could palm off any cases she wasn’t handling personally to one of her associates. They had interns to help them with the legwork, it’s not like she was overworking them. Lexa had always refused to take an intern, maintaining that they would only get in her way.

It was around half past twelve when she got a text from Lincoln. It read: _im in the city rn, wanna get lunch?_

Lexa replied with a yes and the name of a nearby café, and then abandoned her desk completely. Unfortunately, leaving for a break meant walking past the office pen again, to be stared at by the general assembly of her employees. She cursed herself once more for forgetting to wear her usual dress pants – none of these people had seen her in anything else.

Lincoln, it seemed, had a similar thought. “What are you _wearing!?”_ He said loudly, his eyes wide on her as she sat down at the little table, which was being bathed in bright midday light through the nearby window of the café.

Lexa rolled her eyes, exasperated. “You would think no one’s ever seen jeans before.”

“To work, though?” Lincoln raised his eyebrows. “What is this, some kind of casual Friday on a Tuesday?”

“My mind must have been elsewhere this morning,” Lexa said lightly, as if she didn’t know that that was exactly the case. “It doesn’t matter.”

Lincoln stared at her, long and hard. He was still staring when a waiter came over asking if they’d like anything. Lexa ordered a tea and sandwich, and Lincoln just ordered a coffee, black. He crossed his arms when the waiter left, and smiled at her. “So when it is?”

“The procedure?” She smiled. “Tomorrow.”

He leaned forward a little. “That’s exciting, Lex.”

“I know,” Lexa said. “It is.”

“And this Clarke girl, the surrogate you told me about. She seems like a good sort.”

Lexa hesitated. Clarke lived in a rough end of town, in a terrifying looking apartment, and worked in fast food restaurants for a living – and apparently changed her address every other week. She always had grease on her face and always seemed tired. “She’s alright,” Lexa said, her voice unreadable.

“I’d like to meet her, eventually.” Lincoln smiled. “I’m glad you’re going through with this, Lex. If your babysitting skills are anything to go by, you’re going to be a great mother.”

Lexa smiled. “Yes, and my child will be better behaved than you ever were.”

Lincoln shifted for a moment, looking vaguely uncomfortable before bracing his elbows on the table to lean forward. He frowned. “Look, I know you’re not going to love the idea, Lexa, but...” he sighed. “You’ve got to tell Anya and Indra. Soon, before Indra leaves the city again.”

“I thought she’d already left,” Lexa said vaguely, as food and their drinks were set down on the table. She took a sip of her tea. “Have you been speaking to her?”

Lincoln receded a little, reddening a bit. “Not.. n – not really, I mean. I just... She...”

Lexa’s eyes narrowed. Her cousin was a terrible liar. “What has Indra said to you, Lincoln?” She demanded.

Sighing, Lincoln looked her in the eye nervously. “She called me. Told me... told me to make sure you understood how much of a bad idea it would be to go through with trying to have a baby.” He shifted. “Tried to get me to convince you to forget about the whole thing.”

Lexa was still, looking down into the dark, swirling tea in her cup. It reflected a wavy, moving version of her face, and she stared down into it, her frown deepening. “I see.”

Lincoln huffed. “Look, don’t listen to Indra. She thinks she’s helping, but she has no idea how to.”

“I know,” Lexa said tightly. “And you still think I should tell her?”

Sighing, Lincoln looked down at the table. “Even if your sisters can be insufferable, they’re still your family. They’ll be hurt if you go through with this without telling them.” When Lexa was silent, he reached over and squeezed her hand. “Go on, Lex. Prove to them you can do this.”

Lexa sighed slowly. “Alright. Are you busy tonight? I could invite them over for dinner.”

Lincoln grinned. “Sounds great.”

The prospect of her sisters coming over for dinner that night put a dampener on the rest of Lexa’s day. Lunch with Lincoln had been a nice diversion, but now that she had her sisters on her mind, she looked at the still open mothering web pages on her computer and felt more nerves than excitement. What if Indra was right? What if she was kidding herself when she thought that she would make a decent mother. She was a workaholic, and far too serious to be able to raise a child.

She took two deep breaths and calmed herself down. Lincoln had said that she would be a good mother, and she trusted Lincoln.

That night, she arrived home early to get changed and start cooking something for dinner. Indra and Anya liked a cooked meal, and the last time she’d ordered takeout when they came over, the sour expressions on their faces had been enough to make Lexa promise herself the next time they were over, she’d exercise her limited cooking skill. She wished she could make the pasta sauce Clarke had made on Sunday night – it had been from a jar, but she’d watched the other woman add things to the pot to bring out the flavours. She wished she’d paid better attention, so she could do it again, but she didn’t, and she couldn’t. Contenting herself with just using a pasta sauce from a jar on its own, she turned the heat on the stove and waited.

They arrived just when Lexa had told them to. Anya had brought the twins, and they scampered over the furniture just as soon as they walked through the door. They must have come together, because Indra and Anya walked in at the same time. Anya embraced Lexa warmly, and even Indra smiled at her. Clearly they were in a good mood, and Lexa was thankful for that.

Once Lincoln arrived, they ate. The boys were messy eaters, and Anya was constantly telling them to be polite, reminding them that they were guests. It was endearing, seeing the affectionate glint in her sister’s eye when Anya looked at her sons. It steeled Lexa’s resolve, and she cleared her throat just as they were finishing dinner.

“So,” she said, as impassively as she could manage. “I have an announcement.”

Indra raised her eyebrows and Anya tilted her head. Lincoln just smiled.

“I... I’m going to be having a baby.”

“I thought you couldn’t,” Indra said, maybe a little harshly.

“I can’t,” Lexa said stiffly. “But a surrogate can. I contacted an agency and found a surrogate, and the procedure is happening tomorrow.”

There was some silence, and Lexa felt her heart stutter under the stares of her sisters. Lincoln, bless him, spoke first. “I think it’s fantastic news!”

“Yes, I... of course it is,” Anya stammered, “It’s just, it’s _surprising_ is all – I thought you’d given up on this.”

“How could I just _give up_ on this?” Lexa wondered, shaking her head.

“You accept that it’s for the best that you don’t raise a child,” Indra said seriously. “And you focus on more important things. Like your career.”

“Mother always pressured me to have children,” Lexa retorted.

“Your mother’s not here,” Indra snapped.

Lincoln shifted nervously. “Hey, can we – “

“I just want you to understand what a mistake you’re making,” Indra said hotly. “I’m _worried_ about you, Lexa, making this sudden decision that will change your life forever, and I don’t know if you’re the kind of person who can handle all this. This isn’t something you can make a snap decision about, you can’t just have a child on impulse. What’s more, I can’t even imagine how much money you’re wasting on a surrogate too.” She shook her head. “Just live your life, Lexa. You’ve made a good one, don’t let a foolish mid-life crisis ruin it all for you.”

The table was silent. Lincoln stared down at the remains of his food. Even Anya was still, and didn’t try to interject. It made Lexa’s throat dry – did they both feel this way? Anya had been so supportive in the beginning, but had she been, deep down, hoping it didn’t work out and Lexa never got a child. Indra was staring at her with those burning eyes that had so intimidated Lexa as a child. Lexa swallowed hard, and her throat burned. “I...” She opened and closed her mouth. “I don’t expect either of you to understand.”

Indra sighed, and wiped her mouth with a napkin before standing. “I should get going, I have an appointment for later tonight. Anya?”

Anya glanced at Lexa sheepishly before standing up as well. “Thank you for dinner Lexa. It was delicious.”

They both walked themselves to the door, leaving in silence.

Lexa looked over at Lincoln, her face slack. “I shouldn’t have told them.”

Lincoln shook his head, but his face was sad. “You’ll be glad you did.”

“How can you say that?” Lexa breathed. “What if they’re right? What if this is a terrible idea and I have no business having a baby?”

“You can’t let yourself think that,” Lincoln said firmly. “Seriously, Lexa, don’t do that to yourself.” He reached over the table to squeeze her hand where it rested near her plate. “Do you want me to stick around, help you clean up?”

“No,” Lexa said at once. “I’ll be fine with it, I... I think I’d like to be on my own for a while anyway.”

Lincoln stared at her. “Lexa – “

“I’m fine, Lincoln,” Lexa sighed, standing up and starting to collect the plates. “Just... please go home.”

He stood slowly, watching her carefully as she moved over in silence towards the kitchen. He moved over to the door just as slowly. “Text me, okay?”

“Alright.”

He left quietly, the door barely making any noise at all. When the room was empty and she was alone, she leant over the bench and buried her head in her hands. Breathing deeply, she squeezed her eyes shut. Her sisters were just trying to help, she told herself. They were only thinking of her.

Why was that getting harder to believe? Why was Indra so against this?

She barely noticed that a few stray tears had leaked from the corners of her eyes when she glanced over at her phone and saw a light flashing on it. She picked it up, seeing the notification for an unread email. Opening her inbox, she frowned when she saw it was from Clarke, replying to the message Lexa had sent with the contract attached. She opened the email:

 

_To: lexa.woods@woodsandcolegal.com_

_From: ClarkeGriff@gmail.com_

_CC:_

_Subject: re. Surrogacy Contract_

_Just finished reading the contract. It sounds fine to me, should be all good to sign. See you tomorrow for the big day! :)_

_~ C_

Heaving another sigh, Lexa squeezed her eyes shut.

 

 

* * * * *

 

 

Lexa woke the next morning feeling ill. She ate breakfast slowly, and then got dressed even slower. She didn’t turn the radio on for the morning news like she might usually have done. Nor did she read the newspaper, to which she subscribed so as to get one for every morning. She didn’t do anything she normally did, and that made her feel even more ill. When it was time to leave, she stood at the door for several minutes, lifting her hand to the doorknob and dropping again when she lost her nerve. Eventually, though, she told herself she was being a coward.

Even after it all, Lexa got to the clinic before Clarke and was treated to an anxiety inducing wait in the front waiting room area. She checked her watch constantly, even though she knew she was early. Her mind wandered – what if Clarke had changed her mind and decided not to show up? What if she’d decided not to go through with the whole thing and just decided to not tell Lexa.

But then Clarke was pushing the glass door open and looking around the waiting room, slight redness in her cheeks from the cold outside, and wearing a huge sweater that looked so old and ugly it could only have come from a thrift shop. Lexa stood up at once. “Clarke,”

“Hey,” She said breathlessly, coming over. Looking Lexa directly in the eye, she smiled thinly. “So. It’s happening.”

“It’s happening.” Lexa said, unable to contain a small smile. “Oh! Here,” she reached into her bag to pull out a stack of papers and a pen. “Just sign where it’s marked, and then we’re ready to go.”

“Sure,” Clarke leaned against the coffee table in the waiting room, kneeling down to sign. Her signature was a messily scrawled little scribble. It was very Clarke, Lexa thought, before berating herself. She hardly knew Clarke, after all.

In any case, Clarke was quick about signing everything up. She seemed skittish and unable to keep still, but that could hardly be held against her – she was, after all, about to be impregnated. It was a terrifying idea, and Lexa stared at her. If anything, she was handling everything pretty well, considering. “Are you alright?” Lexa asked.

Clarke glanced over at her and smiled in that lopsided smirking way that was one part mocking and equal parts amused. “Yeah, I’m fine.” She chuckled, as if Lexa had asked a ridiculous question. “Are you?”

“Yes,” Lexa said at once.

Someone from the Clinic appeared from down a corridor, and smiled at them. “Ready?

Lexa looked over at Clarke, who looked slighter more ill than she had a minute ago, but she nodded. Lexa looked back over at the clinic woman. “Ready,” she said.

 

* * * * *

 

Lexa was done first, of course. She’d done the procedure before, when she’d tried IVF, and mostly knew what to expect. Sitting out an office waiting for someone from the clinic to come in with Clarke, though, her mind was on the blonde girl who’d looked almost downright green going into the room where the procedure would take place. Had Clarke done any research, did she know what to expect?

Lexa got up and paced the room anxiously, looking at the doctor’s framed certificates on the wall, going around to the other side of the desk and peering at the family photos there, and other personal objects scattered around the desktop. The computer was on a screensaver, and Lexa watched it for a while, before doing another lap of the room. She crossed her arms and closed her eyes, counting her breaths in the way Anya always told her to do when she was stressed. This, of course, made her think of Anya and Indra, and made her stomach tighten. Huffing, she plopped down into one of the seats facing the desk just as the office door opened.

The doctor was first, crossing the room to sit down at his desk, making Lexa thankful she hadn’t been caught snooping. Then Clarke moved soundlessly into the room to sit smoothly down on the other chair, her arms crossed over her chest. Lexa stared at her, trying to gauge some kind of reaction or emotion from her, but she was staring over at the doctor as she started to speak.

“So!” She said brightly, clapping her hands together. “In terms of the procedure, everything went perfectly well. From here, it’s just going to be a matter of seeing if it’s all worked out.” She looked at Clarke. “You should be fine to take a regular pregnancy test in three weeks or so. Until then, I’ll give you a list of things I recommend taking, just the usual rounds of hormones I recommend to any woman trying to fall pregnant. If we have confirmation of a pregnancy, then things should proceed as normal and you can come in for some scans and tests at the usual times.”

“That’s it,” Lexa said slowly. “Wait three weeks and see how it goes?”

The doctor nodded. “That’s it. I’ll give you a number you can call if either of you have any questions, but until we have some confirmation, there’s nothing else to do but wait.” She smiled at them both. “I wish you both the best,”

“Thank you,” Lexa frowned.

Clarke started to rise from her chair and Lexa took that as her cue to get up too, and they both nodded at the doctor before leaving the office. Clarke started off down the hallway, and Lexa had to powerwalk to keep up. “So?” She said, trying to catch Clarke’s eye.

“So?” Clarke said questioningly.

“ _So?”_

“So nothing,” Clarke said, a little impatiently, as they got out into the waiting room. “The procedure was fine if that’s what you’re asking, but you heard the Doctor, there’s nothing to be done for three weeks.”

“We should get those vitamins and hormones.” Lexa said.

Clarke winced a little. “Okay, great, uh – actually, I’ll just get them myself.” She fidgeted nervously, and it made Lexa’s insides tighten with nerves. “I just – I have somewhere to be this afternoon, that’s all. I can pick them up on the way home, just email me the list.”

Lexa frowned. “Are you sure?”

“Sure I’m sure,” Clarke said, and even Lexa could tell her brightness, usually blinding, was forced and weak.

Lexa’s eyes narrowed. “You’re alright – right?”

Clarke huffed a little. “Yes. I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.”

“I feel like I’m in a constant state of worrying about you lately,” Lexa said, more helplessly than she’d meant it.

“Well, don’t” Clarke said carefully, her voice softening. “I’ll call you tonight. Okay?” She started to walk over to the door.

“Clarke – “

“Bye!”

Lexa watched Clarke’s back recede through the parking lot through the glass doors of the waiting room. She swallowed hard, feeling a nervous buzzing in her mind settle over her. Something was wrong with Clarke, that was easy enough to tell. She felt a compelling need to help Clarke, to make sure she didn’t get stressed and overwhelmed, and she told herself it was because she knew that stress would be bad for any baby that may be cooking in there. But as she watched the blonde haired girl disappear amongst the cars in the parking lot, she tried not to think about how uneasy the thought of Clarke distressed was making her.

Sighing and shaking her head, she left the clinic.

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter: Clarke has a minor meltdown, visits the gallery and rediscovers an old friend - not to mention worried Lexa and douchey Finn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N - Thanks for the feedback everyone, I appreciate every bit of it <3  
> By the way, just a little tangent here - I live in a semi-remote part of coastal Australia, and I take the train regularly to uni. I don't have any friends, online or offline, who like The 100 and Clexa, and mine is a pretty middle-of-nowhere kind of place, and there's not much in the way of popular culture and such. So imagine my surprise the other day when I get on the train to uni and see written on a windowsil in permanent marker in small letters 'LEXA DESERVED BETTER - RESHOP HEDA.' I was so shocked and so, so happy. Makes me all warm and fuzzy to think that even in my remote little spot, I found a trace of someone who loved the same thing I loved. It may sound silly haha, but it made me feel good.  
> I'm not very involved in this fandom, but I do really love it - enjoy the chapter, gang. See you all back here tomorrow hopefully <3

 

 

 

_CHAPTER SIX_

 

Clarke made it as far as a nearby Burger King. She went straight to the public restrooms, locked herself into a cubicle, sat down on a closed toilet and leant down to put her head between her knees.

Squeezing her eyes closed, she breathed deeply and slowly. She clutched her hands together and rested her face against her forearms, grinding her teeth while she waited for the feeling of blood rushing around her ears to calm down. Clarke couldn’t remember ever having any kind of panic attack like this before, but considering what she’d just done, she figured she was entitled to this one little meltdown. It would only be another couple of minutes and she’d be fine.

Except she could be pregnant. Which wasn’t a ‘wait-a-couple-of-minutes-and-everything-will-be-fine’ sort of thing.

She sat up straighter and peered down at her stomach – it was obscured through a couple of layers of clothes (thrift shop clothes, of course, scratchy and ugly,) but she stared down at it as though expecting some divine revelation from what she saw there. Of course, she didn’t feel any different at all, and the procedure hadn’t been that bad, really. Maybe it was that a vague make-money-quickly scheme had become a sudden, rushed decision and that it was only now hitting her that if everything worked out, this wasn’t going away – this _thing_ would stick around for nine months, nine months until she was going to be able to take the money and run. She hadn’t even read a book on pregnancy for god’s sake. How had she ever thought she was going to be able to go through with this?

“Hey, uh, are you okay in there?”

Clarke paused, getting up and opening the stall door. It was a staff member, and she smiled blandly at him. “I’m fine.” She must have stayed in the stall longer than she thought, but she took a deep breath and started walking out, keeping her head intentionally high.

There was nothing else for it – she was just going to have to put a pin in this mental breakdown and come back to it at a more convenient time. For now, she had work to do.

The buses running to the side of the city in which the address Wells had given her was were infuriatingly infrequent, and she found herself waiting at the bus stop for a solid half hour. With nothing to do but think, Clarke began to feel an uneasy pit in her stomach – the last thing she wanted to do right now was think.

When the bus finally showed up, she slumped into a seat and resisted the urge to fall asleep. It was never a good idea to sleep on public transport – she’d learned that the hard way on the subway, when someone poached her phone while she was dozing. Instead, she pressed her head against the window and exhaled slowly. Breathing, that was the key to avoiding a panic attack, right? Breathing.

The bus trip was long enough that Clarke was able to calm herself. She remembered she had a sketchbook buried in her bag somewhere, and dug it out and sketched out the profiles of the other people on the train to ease her mind. She hadn’t drawn like this for years, hadn’t even felt the desire to pull the sketchbook out of her bag and use it. It had been a long drought, but she couldn’t believe how easy and natural it felt now holding the pencil lightly in her hand and making light, rough marks on the thick art paper and watching forms appear.

Things were changing. She was feeling the artist in her again, and it had been so long that she was suddenly filled with a strange kind of hope.

When the bus stopped at the right street, Clarke clambered off and looked around at the monstrous warehouses around her. There were, on the outer areas of the region near the bus stop, nice little houses that spoke of the possibility of the area being turned into some trendy new residential area. Wells had been right to jump on property around here, this was clearly an area on the rise. Some warehouses already had crews of construction workers on them, and signs outside advertised new apartments and flats being built into the warehouses.

Clarke walked down the street and didn’t have to go far until she was facing the warehouse that belonged to the address Wells had given her. She sighed up at it, thankful that Wells had chosen this one above all the others. This one looked old, older than most of the surrounding structures, and had the original lettering printed around the top beneath the roof, which stated that it was once a metalwork factory. Pulling her bag closer over her shoulder, she pushed the decrepit door open and stepped over the debris and rubble that piled around the front.

Inside was even more breathtaking. The enormous factory floor was in surprisingly good condition, and the grotty wooden floors would clean up to look amazing, she imagined. The roof was high with dulled skylights lining the top and sides in long strips of light. Wooden beams were like spider-webs around the roof, holding up a catwalk that ran along the outside, halfway up the wall. The stairs that led up to them were collapsed in a heap on the floor, and a thick layer of dust coated everything. Piles of scrap metal were in every corner and crevice and Clarke had to tell herself repeatedly that the building must be safe or it’d be blocked off, because it certainly didn’t look entirely sturdy. For what felt like the first time that day, she smiled. It was _perfect._

“Oh, you’re here already!” Clarke turned around as Wells bounded into the factory floor, grinning and gesturing around widely. “What do you think?”

“It’s fantastic!” Clarke said honestly. “I don’t know what I expected but – but it’s amazing, Wells.”

Wells put a hand on her back and led her forward gently, using his other hand to point out parts of the factory floor. “Okay, imagine this place cleaned up, with massive industrial pendant lights hanging up there – I mean, we have the skylights for lighting during the day, but still – and these walls’ll be cleaned up and white and we’ll have a few temporary movable walls set up so people can move through the space. Not maze-ish, definitely not, we wanna keep all this space and open feeling, and – “

Clarke listened to her friend talk a mile and minute and just smiled. The pit in her stomach that had been there since the procedure was still there, but suddenly she was feeling lighter, more hopeful. This was what she needed – a reminder of why she was doing this.

“- all that’s left is finalising the contract for the builders and construction can start.” Wells was saying.

“I’ll have the money soon,” Clarke said, eternally thankful she had been chosen as a surrogate, this morning’s uncertainty and panic entirely forgotten. “Real soon, I can pay three quarters of all the trades and fees and stuff upfront, and the last quarter a little later.” The money she’d be getting from Lexa soon would cover most of the fees, the rest would have to wait until the baby was born.

Wells looked surprised. “Wow, you’re not messing around! Thanks, Clarke,” he looked grim, but smiled. “The guys were worried you’d be unreliable – I mean, they don’t know you and all.”

Clarke chuckled. “No, I’m serious about this. Real serious.”

“That’s good to hear,” Wells smiled. “Oh, hey! What are you doing now, how would you like to come have dinner and meet the rest of the guys? You can check out the other artworks while you’re there, and they’ve been keen to meet you.”

“I’d love to,” Clarke smiled.

Wells had driven to the warehouse, so his car was parked nearby, in a little empty slab of concrete where it looked as though a building had been demolished there once (“We own this land too, it’ll be a perfect parking lot, don’t you think?!” Wells exclaimed.)

Clarke looked at the warehouse as they walked to the car, taking in every detail of the exterior. Wells noticed her looking. “Not much is changing on the exterior,” he said with a smile. “At least, not in the plans we have now. We want to keep the industrial look, you know?”

“Yeah,” Clarke nodded. “That’s good to hear, it’s a beautiful building.” Well’s smile only grew.

The drive to Wells’ apartment was pretty quick, he must have moved into the neighbourhood. On the way, he explained how the other two guys were rooming with him until they were ready to move out too – they’d bought two of the apartments that were being built near the soon-to-be-gallery. Clarke privately wondered whether they all had side jobs – they must, she knew first hand that hardly anyone could earn a living from painting.

As she got out of the car, her stomach squirmed from nerves, and even though it was a feeling she experienced many times before, her hand still flew to her stomach and she paused. Was this what it was going to be like? Watching, waiting and wondering for three weeks? And what if it ended up being for nine months, what would _that_ feel like. She’d devoted so much energy trying to be chosen as the one who got pregnant, that she didn’t really think too hard about what it was going to be like to _be_ pregnant – maybe that was the reason for her breakdown earlier.

They got out of the building’s elevator on the fourth floor, and Clarke already knew that this apartment was going to be nicer than her own. Sure enough, the place was spacious and modern, with wide glass windows looking out over the warehouses and apartment buildings. _Not quite as nice as Lexa’s place,_ Clarke found herself thinking. But then again, she didn’t think there was a place in the entire city that was as nice as Lexa’s penthouse apartment.

“Make yourself at home,” Wells said easily, and Clarke moved out into a wider living room where there were stacks of paintings leaning against every object. She walked amongst them, looking at the works. It wasn’t hard to tell the difference in style between them. The paintings leaning against the far wall were bright and expressive in vibrant golden shades of yellow and red. Forms were fluid and full of life, and Clarke decided that these were artworks that inspired countless interpretations. They were happy, though, and she wondered how they would contrast with her own works, which were so emotionally charged in a different way. Wells looked over from where he was fiddling with a thermostat. “Oh,” he said cheerfully. “Those are mine.”

“I thought so,” Clarke said, and she had. These works, which were so bright and optimistic, were Wells all over.

She was about to ask him about the other paintings, but someone had come wandering down the hallway and into the living room, brow furrowed at the noise Clarke and Wells had been making. He had long hair, not in an intentional, stylish way but in a scraggly overgrown way, and he wore loose fitting sweat pants and a T-shirt. He was the picture of a starving artist, and Clarke couldn’t help but feel amused by him – she was apparently among her own kind here. “Who the hell’s this?” he asked, and his voice was low and growly, as though he’d only just woken up. Given his bleary eyes and slow movements, he probably had.

“Oh, Murphy, great!” Wells said brightly. “This is Clarke, our fourth artist.”

The young man, Murphy apparently, looked Clarke up and down. “Oh.”

“Did I hear fourth artist?” Another voice, a little more cheerful, could be heard as another man appeared at the doorway to the hallway.

Clarke’s mouth fell open. “ _Bellamy?!”_

Bellamy Blake, looking so much like the way he had when he had been a kid in college, stared back blankly. “No way – little Clarke Griffin!”

Clarke moved forward as Bellamy did, getting wrapped up in a tight hug as the man laughed in disbelief. She was seeing a million memories played out in front of her eyes, happier memories from a better time, when she was still young and an artist and so hopeful for everything that was going to come. She clung to this boy who was somehow a man now, and grinned at the familiar feeling.

“Uh – “ Wells said slowly, looking between them.

Bellamy smiled over at him. “Clarke was my little sisters roommate and best friend when we were all in college.” He turned back to grin at Clarke. “Damn, I can’t believe this.”

“Neither can I,” Clarke said, shaking her head, still dazed. “Y – you’re an artist? I thought you’d majored in science or something!”

Bellamy chuckled. “I took an art class before I graduated. Kinda took to it, so after I graduated I went and took some more art classes, at night after work.”

Clarke nodded. There was a point after she’d graduated where she’d lost contact with everyone she knew from college – it’s what came from moving halfway across the country to move to the big city and pursue an art career. Maybe that’s why she’d crashed so hard when her art career hadn’t gone anywhere – she had no one to lean on, nothing else was happening in her life apart from art and when that fell apart, so did she. Her college friends had spread out over the country and she lost contact completely – she would have given anything at all to be able to talk to her old roommate again, and here was her brother, standing before her like some kind of mirage. Speaking of her roommate – “How is Octavia?”

Bellamy beamed. “She’s doing great! Working around here, actually.”

Clarke’s heart almost stopped. “Octavia’s _here?_ In the city?”

“Yeah,” Bellamy smiled. “I can give you her number if you like, I know she’d be happy to see you.”

“Yeah!” Clarke said, grinning. “Yeah, that’d be – that’d be so great!”

Bellamy laughed again and shook his head. “Still can’t believe it – small world, huh?”

Clarke chuckled and agreed, even though privately she disagreed – the world was huge, it only seemed small sometimes, when these small miracles happened. But the thought of being able to talk to Octavia again, maybe even see her, was enough to make her feel light all over. “Which are yours, then?” She asked, gesturing around at the paintings.

Bellamy moved over to a stack that were leaning against the TV cabinet and patted one. “These ones over here.”

Clarke moved over to flip through them, her eyes running over the colours and forms. Compared to Bellamy’s paintings, Wells’ vibrant works had been pared back and restrained – Bellamy’s pieces were bursting with energy, heavily textured layers of paint in colours that Clarke would never have personally used together for fear they wouldn’t work. On Bellamy’s canvas’ though, they were beautiful. Bellamy might not have the talent of Wells, but he more than compensated with his thick almost expressionist strokes of colour and light. As for form, they reminded her of flowers and plants, lit by multi-coloured shafts of light that illuminated the entire abstract landscape. “They’re good,” she finally said, nodding, running a finger over the bumps and texture of the paint, clearly layered on thickly with a palette knife rather than a brush. “Really good.”

“Thanks,” Bellamy smiled.

Clarke turned to the other stack of paintings, scattered and leaning against the counter near the kitchen area. She glanced over at where the other man, Murphy, was fixing himself something to drink at a coffee machine on the bench with a sour, tired expression. “I guess these ones are yours?” She murmered, approaching the paintings, before pausing. “May I?”

Murphy shrugged. “Whatever,” he grunted.

She flipped through them slowly, and took in more shades of gold, similar to Wells and yet entirely different. Murphy’s work took more solid forms – she could clearly see faces and people in amongst the flares of gold and sepia. They reminded her of old photos, but blurred somewhat, as though from a dream or a distant memory. They were wistful and melancholic, and she was impressed. “You’re very good,” Clarke said. “They’re beautiful.”

Murphy looked at her strangely, before taking another sip of coffee and looking away. Wells came up behind her and leaned against the bench, arms crossed and a playful smile on his face. “So what do you think?” he wondered. “You still want to exhibit with us?”

“Of course I do,” Clarke said, looking around at the three men. “This exhibition is going to be amazing.”

“Construction on the warehouse stars next Tuesday, did Wells tell you?” Bellamy called over, as he was straightening up the living room, trying to get the paintings in some kind of order.

“Wow,” Clarke breathed, looking up at Wells. “I had no idea it was all happening so soon,”

“Oh yeah,” Wells said. “There’s no stopping this thing now!”

Clarke tried to imagine the swoop in her stomach that she would have felt if she hadn’t been able to come up with the money. She tried to imagine facing Wells now, his eyes lit with enthusiasm and excitement, and telling him that she couldn’t make up the money and had to pull out.

She breathed a deep breath and thanked god, for what felt like the billionth time that day, for Lexa Woods.

 

* * * * *

 

She ended up spending the afternoon and evening in the guys’ apartment, laughing and hanging out with friends like she hadn’t done in years.

Wells was, of course, a joy to be around. He was all boyish enthusiasm and friendly good-naturedness, and just watching him talk about the gallery and the exhibition was incredibly motivating. Clarke decided that if any of the other three of them had doubts about the endeavour, Wells had drive and determination enough for all four of them.

Murphy was a strange guy, with his face in a perpetual scowl and his eyes always glazed, like he was super tired, or extremely far away. Or high, Clarke figured, which was always a possibility when it came to artists. She asked him if he studied art, and he shook his head without saying any more. It was a strange thought that such a cold man could come up with such beautiful paintings, but artists were strange like that – the work wasn’t always an indication of the person. Except when it was.

“He studied at Rhode Island,” Bellamy told Clarke later, after they’d had takeout for dinner and were lounging around watching a movie, some dumb action movie that had Wells and Murphy riveted, and allowed Clarke and Bellamy to talk quietly on the other side of the room. “But he dropped out barely three months into his program.”

“Oh,” Clarke said, nodding. “He’s _that_ kind of guy.”

Bellamy huffed a laugh. “The pretentious, ‘art-school-is-limiting-my-creative-freedom-and-expression’ guy? Yeah.” He looked over at Murphy and shrugged. “Don’t get me wrong, he’s a good guy. But – I don’t know how to explain Murphy. Not much fazes him, he’s one to roll with the punches and take whatever comes. It’s a good quality for someone with the kind of unsteady work we have, but it makes him kind of – well,”

“Cold,” Clarke said, nodding. “I get it.” She wondered if she’d be like that if she’d never met Finn, if she’d been alone all this time with her paintings and her failure. Maybe she’d become jaded and cold too. “How are _you_?” She asked quietly.

He seemed surprised. “I’m fine,” he smiled. “Been in the city not too long, it’s still a little new. But hey, nothing I can’t handle.”

“How long has Octavia been living here?”

“Even less time than me. Maybe a month or two?” Clarke nodded slowly. Bellamy regarded her curiously. “You’re different, Griffin.”

Clarke glanced over at him before looking back over at the TV, without really seeing anything. “It’s been almost a decade, Bellamy.” There was a note of bitterness in her voice that she hadn’t meant for, and Bellamy seemed to sense it.

He shifted beside her. “Have you been here the whole time? In the city?”

Clarke stared straight ahead. “Yeah.”

“Have you been painting?”

Clarke paused. She didn’t want to lie. Not to Bellamy, not to the part of herself that he represented. “No.”

There was a long few minutes of silence while they just listened to the movie, to the stock standard dialogue and boring white man on the screen run from green screened explosions and balaclava wearing bad guys. Clarke could almost feel Bellamy wanting to say something next to her, but he stayed silent for a while. Glancing over at the couch, she almost smiled when she saw that Wells had fallen asleep, his head leaning back against the headrest and his mouth agape. Murphy looked over at him and his lips pursed.

She looked back over at Bellamy to see him staring at her with a strange expression. Sad, almost. “This exhibition is going to be good, Clarke.” He said firmly, like he believed it with all his heart. “It’s going to be real good.”

Clarke nodded, offering a small smile. “I know.”

 

* * * * *

 

When Clarke realised how late it had gotten, she made her excuses, got Octavia’s number off Bellamy, and made her way out of the building. Bellamy squeezed her shoulder and told her how great it was to see her again. Wells crushed her in a tight hug. Even Murphy said goodbye in a voice that was almost friendly. Almost. She waved off Wells’ offer to drive her home. The poor guy looked exhausted, she wasn’t about to make him drive all the way out to her place.

She thought she remembered there being a bus stop down the road from the drive over, and made her way through the street towards it. At night, this area seemed a whole lot more formidable – the renovated warehouses were less beautiful in the dark when they were just hulking buildings that cast long black shadows over the road. The streetlights flickered too, adding to a sense of unease that settled over Clarke. She pulled the sleeves of her thrift-store sweater over her hands to keep them warm, and wrapped her arms around herself.

The bus stop wasn’t too far, and it was in a pretty well lit area, so she could see the bus timetable on the shelter. There was meant to be a bus headed her way at quarter past ten. She pulled out her phone to check the time.

_9 Missed Calls_

“Shit,” Clarke uttered, opening up the notifications to see that every one of them had been from Lexa. She poked Lexa’s contact button and pressed the phone to her ear.

Worryingly, it was only a few rings before Lexa picked up. “Where have you _been?”_ The other woman snapped down the line. “I’ve been calling you all day!”

“I was at a friend’s place,” Clarke said, her brow furrowing at Lexa’s shortness. “What’s your problem?!”

“My _problem,”_ Lexa bit out, her voice irritated, “is that I’ve been _worried._ ” Clarke heard Lexa take a deep breath. “Where are you, are you home?”

“No,” Clarke said. “I’m on my way home now.” She winced as soon as she’d spoken. She really should have just lied and said she was home.

“ _What.”_ Lexa groaned. “ _Tell_ me you’re driving.”

Clarke sighed. She was too far into this now to lie. “Nope. I’m at a bus stop.”

“Clarke! Do you have any idea how late it is?!” Lexa growled. She sighed. “Text me where you are. Give me a street name.”

“No!”

“Clarke,”

“No! I’m fine!” Clarke snapped.

“Clarke,” Lexa said, and this time her voice was tired. “Please tell me where you are so I can come and get you.”

Clarke exhaled slowly. “I’ll text you the address.”

It was a good thing that Lexa didn’t end up taking long to turn up, because it was freezing out. Clarke found herself wishing fervently that she’d dressed warmer but, then again, she hadn’t expected to be out this late. Really, it had been kind of irresponsible to be out so late, so far from home. Time had gotten away from her, but she told herself she was going to be more careful from now on. Clarke stayed at the bus stop, and as the bus she was planning on taking rounded the corner and she seriously considered just getting on it and telling Lexa not to worry, she saw Lexa’s car turn onto the street. She waved a hand and Lexa pulled up nearby.

Clarke pulled the door open and got in. “Hi,” Lexa said tersely.

“Hello.” Lexa pulled the car away from the curb and rolled down the end of the street, turning onto a more main road and heading back further into the city. Clarke sat in silence for a few moments, staring out into the street. “I’m sorry.”

Lexa glanced over briefly, but said nothing.

Clarke sighed. “I’m _sorry,_ Lexa. I shouldn’t have been out so late with no way to get home. It was irresponsible.” She looked down at her hands. “I know it’s not just myself I have to think about now.”

Lexa sighed deeply as they pulled up at a traffic light. “I’m sorry I yelled at you. I was worried.”

Clarke stared over at her. “I was fine, really, I guess I’d just left my phone on silent, and – “

“You were strange this morning,” Lexa said slowly. “After the procedure. You were freaking out, and you just ran out. I was worried that – I was...”

“You were worried I was just going to run away.” Clarke said.

“Yes,” Lexa said simply.

Clarke was silent, trying to imagine this woman all on her own, worried sick about Clarke and letting her mind wander to the unthinkable. Letting herself imagine that Clarke had just taken off without a word, without even letting her know. She sighed. She _had_ been pretty freaked out this morning. Clarke stared over at Lexa. “I wouldn’t do that.”

“I didn’t know,” Lexa shrugged, and her schooled expression and blank features couldn’t hide how much hurt and worry she’d been feeling. Clarke felt something tear at her heart. “You seem like the type.”

Clarke froze. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” She asked, though her voice wasn’t sharp. Just curious.

Lexa thought for a moment. “You’re a runner. It just seems to be who you are.” She shrugged, glancing over at Clarke briefly as if to make sure she wasn’t causing offence, but her words were soft, thoughtful, rather than malicious. “I defend a lot of clients like that – you can’t pin them down, they’re always moving, always changing. Impulsive, emotional. There one day, gone the next. Like ghosts.”

“You think I’m like that?” Clarke said, her voice barely above a whisper.

“I don’t know,” Lexa said, just as quietly. “But whether you are or not – I’m going to need you to stay pinned down for the next nine months. If everything goes to plan, we’ll be tethered to one another for at least that long. I can’t spend the entire time worried. Do you understand?”

Clarke stared at the side of Lexa’s face. She took stock of the way the light fell on the other woman’s features, the way her cheekbones cast long shadows over her jaw and her chin The way her eyes shone green even in the dimly lit space of the car – she couldn’t believe she’d thought Lexa’s eyes dark when they’d first met. “I understand,” Clarke said gently. She let out a humourless chuckle. “I guess we’re going to need to work on our communication skills here.”

“I guess so,” Lexa said quietly.

Clarke looked straight forward, looking through the windshield. “Do you regret choosing me?”

Lexa paused for a moment, as though she actually was thinking about it. “No,” she decided, and Clarke didn’t take offence at the hesitation. This kind of honesty, it was refreshing.

“Lexa?” Clarke asked after a few minutes of silence charged with thoughtfulness. “Why do you want a baby?”

Lexa looked over at her. “Why did you become a surrogate?”

Clarke laughed, and even Lexa smiled. They returned to the silence. At least they were on equal footing in this way – both weren’t entirely ready to share some things.

They were still in silence when Lexa finally pulled up at Clarke’s apartment building, after what felt like no time at all. Car trips with Lexa always seemed short, Clarke realised. She stared over at the apartment building. It felt like forever since she’d been here, rather than only this morning. The exterior was looking even more dank now, and the light that usually lit up the front door was out, leaving the main entrance shrouded in darkness. She wondered whether there was a maintenance number for the building, or whether she’d just have to ring the landlord. She’d never even seen any of the other people who lived in the building, she had no idea whether they would care if it got fixed or not.

She sighed and opened the passenger door. “Thanks for the ride,” she said.

Lexa looked at the darkened entrance with a frown. “I’ll walk with you to your apartment,” she decided, getting out of the car too.

Clarke was about to protest, but quickly thought better of it. Honestly, this wasn’t the nicest part of town, and any dark places around here were to be avoided without question – especially at night.

They walked up to the front door to the building, and Clarke did the usual trick of twisting the latch a certain way to open up the metal grate before getting at the chipped wooden door. Lexa watched her without a word, instead looking at the grimy bricks and twitching her nose at the interesting smell that was coming off the building. The smell was an interesting mix of weed, body odour and the wet smell of dodgy plumbing. Finn had once called it ‘the poor people smell,’ and Clarke knew it well.

They went inside and started the climb up the stairs. “No elevator?” Lexa asked lightly.

“Nope,” Clarke said, just as casually. The whole building was dank and chilly, and Lexa seemed to be having an eye-opening experience just being here. When they finally got to Clarke’s apartment, there Lexa looked at the door as though she couldn’t quite believe that anyone actually lived here. ‘This is me,” Clarke said with a sigh.

“Alright,” Lexa said carefully, looking Clarke up and down with something like worry.

Clarke almost laughed. “Thankyou for the ride, Lexa. I mean it.”

Lexa’s eyes lit up as she remembered something. “Oh! I almost forgot – “ she rummaged around in the bag slung over her shoulder for a moment, before pulling out a couple of small boxes wrapped in a plastic bag, and handed it to Clarke. “Here. I got them this afternoon.”

Clarke frowned and pulled one of the boxes out of the bag. Vitamins. “Ah. Thanks.”

Lexa shifted nervously for a moment. “They all have instructions on them, but most are once a day. Just vitamins, hormones, the usual stuff.”

“Okay,” Clarke said with a smile, returning the boxes to the bag. “Awesome.”

“Well – bye,” Lexa said slowly, and Clarke waved her off before turning to the door. “Clarke?” She paused and looked back to see Lexa deliberating on the stairs. “If you’re ever out and need help... or a ride home... you can always call me. You should know that.”

Clarke was tempted to say something about how she didn’t need any help, that she was perfectly fine. “Thank you, Lexa.” She said instead. Lexa nodded once before disappearing down the stairs.

The door was unlocked. Finn must be home.

Sure enough, she was barely across the threshold when Finn was in her space. “Where the _hell_ have you been!?” He growled, crossing his arms as Clarke closed the door behind her with a sigh. “I’ve been worried sick!”

Clarke rolled her eyes. “You didn’t call.”

“My phone service is suspended, you know that!” Finn retorted, following her as she wandered over to the kitchen area, stepping over boxes, and put her bag down on the tiny counter. “I was _worried,_ Clarke!”

Clarke frowned. Why did Finn being worried feel different to Lexa being worried? Maybe because the big pay check she was looking forward to was dependant on Lexa being satisfied. Maybe Lexa’s concern was genuinely for her safety, her comfort, whereas Finn’s concern had a more aggressive, controlling edge to it. Either way, there were far too many worried people around her right now. “I’m _fine,”_ Clarke insisted, as though she hadn’t had a panic attack only a few hours ago in a Burger King restroom. “The procedure went well, I went over to Wells’ place afterwards to meet the other artists and look at the warehouse, and then Lexa drove me home.” She smiled at the memory of the great hulking building. “The warehouse is beautiful, Finn, you should see it, it’s got these – “

“’The procedure went well?’ What does that mean?” Finn interrupted, his brow furrowed. “Like, that’s it? You’re pregnant now?”

Clarke stared at him coldly. “We don’t know. I take a test in three weeks.”

Finn frowned, leaning against the wall and looking her up and down. “You still should have called the apartment. Told me where you were.”

“Why!? _”_ Clarke snapped. “What, I’m supposed to check in with you whenever I do anything?! Where the hell are _you,_ anyway? When I get home and you’re not here five nights a week? You really want to have that conversation?”

“I got a job, Clarke,” Finn said heatedly. “I’ve been _working.”_

“Doing what?” Clarke ground out.

Finn was silent.

Huffing, Clarke pushed past him. “Fuck you,” she snarled, moving out into the living area and growling again when she realised she’d reached the end of the tiny apartment and there was nowhere else to go. Finn shook his head, still silent, and walked over to the bed. He shot her one last stare, confused and thoughtful and sad all at once, before collapsing onto the bed, facing away from where she was standing.

Clarke sat down on the couch and rubbed the bridge of her nose with her fingers. Out of her peripheral vision, she could see her canvases, piled in a corner. One on top of the other, she saw them in this squalid, dank little apartment and tried to imagine them on a wall in a gallery. It was impossible to picture these paintings belonging anywhere other than the world they’d been made in, in the dark and the dirt. She clenched her fists, reaching out to the wall to flick the light switch and plunge the apartment into darkness.

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter - A pregnancy test and a cute dinner date!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N - You might have noticed this update is a little earlier than usual - I'm not sure whether I'll have access to a computer tonight to upload at the usual time, so I figured I'd do it a little earlier. Means you didn't have to wait too long for this chapter - but it does mean that it'll be a bit longer a wait for the next one, since chapter eight will be uploaded at the usual time ;)  
> As always, thanks for the feedback <3

_CHAPTER SEVEN_

 

Lexa handed Clarke the little box and watched the blonde girl visibly gulp. Sitting down opposite her at the table, Lexa surveyed her carefully. “Okay.”

Clarke took a deep breath, still staring at the box. “Okay.” She winced and glanced up at Lexa. “Is it weird that I’m nervous?”

“No. I’m nervous too.” Lexa said heavily. “But if we get it over with quickly, we’ll know. It’s worse not knowing.”

“I don’t know about that,” Clarke said, putting the box down on the table. “I’ve kind of enjoyed these past three weeks of not knowing.”

Lexa crossed her arms. “You’re taking this pregnancy test whether you like it or not. Now go.” Her voice was gentle.

Clarke rolled her eyes and picked up the box, standing. She disappeared down the hall in silence with her head bowed nervously, headed for Lexa’s bathroom. Left in the living room of the apartment on her own, sitting awkwardly at the dining table, Lexa leaned back and heaved a heavy sigh. In truth, she’d been looking forward to this day ever since the procedure. Being left in limbo, not knowing whether Clarke was actually pregnant or not, was the worst feeling in the world.

No, maybe not the _worst_ feeling in the world. The worst feeling in the world was calling Clarke all day and getting no response, and hearing in the middle of the night that she was standing at a bus stop on a dark street waiting for a bus to take her home. Worrying about Clarke was the worst feeling in the world.

Thankfully, in the three weeks since that night, they seemed to come to some kind of tenuous understanding. Clarke had started to text Lexa, just once, every day. To begin with, it was just a rundown of her day, assuring Lexa that she was alright, that she was home safe. Then it began to change, becoming more thoughtful observations about the world, and the people around her. Lexa only replied every once in a while, but the most bizarre exchange so far had been the day that Clarke had written her a lengthy paragraph on the subject of how the managers at fast food restaurants probably had the aptitude to be mob bosses if they wanted to. Lexa had shaken her head at her phone with a smile, sitting at her desk at work, and had given into the temptation to text back. Lexa’s favourite text, by far, had been the one she’d gotten early in the morning a few days ago:

 _Clarke (5:04am) : I always complain about opening shifts, but I always forget about how beautiful the sky looks at this time on a clear day._ _I wish you could see it._

Lexa had stared at her phone through bleary, tired eyes, blinking away the sleep that blurred her vision. Shaking her head, she’d pulled herself out of bed and dragged herself over to her balcony, wrapping herself in a blanket to ward off the early morning chill.

Clarke had been right. The sky was yellow and gold, and Lexa could imagine Clarke, eyes glazed dreamily, staring out the window of her bus at the colours of the sky, at the way the light hit the clouds, and thinking about how beautiful it was. She’d pulled out her phone, and thumbed one of her rare replies.

_Lexa (5:11am) : I can see it_

She stood up from the dining table suddenly, pushing in the chairs and lining them up so they were straight and neat. Wandering down the hall, she leaned against the wall near to the closed bathroom door and waited. “Are you alright?”

There was some kind of rustling sound inside. “Yep.” Was Clarke’s clipped answer.

Lexa sighed and leaned her head against the wall, closing her eyes. Clarke was a strange thing. At her core, Lexa could tell that Clarke was an innately hopeful person, and yet she could be brash and unpredictable in ways that bordered on the self-destructive, on a kind of person who had lost hope entirely. She backtracked whenever their conversation strayed too close to the personal, and often she resolutely refused to talk about Finn. Finn was one of a multitude of different topics that Lexa knew were never to be discussed – they also included her family, her time in college and, the most blacklisted of topics, why she’d decided to be a surrogate.

It’s not like Lexa could complain, really. She’d been just as unforthcoming when it came to opening up. She, too, refused to discuss the reasons for her wanting to be a mother with Clarke. It had become something of a joke between them - two questions that couldn’t be answered, the punchline to a joke that only meant something to them and no one else, and even then only because laughing about it was easier than answering those questions. “Clarke,” Lexa called again, knocking on the door.

The door opened and Clarke strolled out, peering at the pregnancy test in her hand with a furrowed brow.

“Well?” Lexa said expectantly.

Clarke shook her head, pursing her lips nervously. “Hasn’t showed up yet. The pack says three minutes, but it feels like it’s been at least fifteen.”

Lexa rolled her eyes. “Come on.” She led the way out into the kitchen, and fixed two glasses of juice, pushing one across the counter to Clarke, who had put the test down on top of a tissue on the counter. Clarke sat down, still looking at the test uneasily.

“You’re very nervous,” Lexa observed. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” Clarke said tensely. “I... I don’t know. Aren’t people always nervous when they do this?”

Lexa shrugged. “Or excited.”

Clarke thought for a moment, brow furrowing. “No, definitely nervous.”

Lexa almost smiled. “How’s work?” She asked, hoping to take Clarke’s mind off the test and make those lines of worry on her face disappear.

Clarke frowned. “Work is...” She leaned her face into her hand, propped up by her elbow on the bench. “Work is work. It’s frustrating and it’s sweaty and the pay is complete shit but its work and it pays the rent. Just.” She glanced up at Lexa. “What about you? How’s the firm?”

“The firm’s doing well,” Lexa shrugged. “We’re taking on new interns this months. It’s always a nightmare.”

One of Clarke’s eyebrows rose delicately. “What’s wrong with interns?”

Lexa’s nose crinkled and she shrugged a shoulder. “Nothing, _really,_ they just don’t know how things work. It’s frustrating.”

“You were an intern once upon a time too, I’m sure of it,” Clarke pointed out, sipping her juice. “You should have some compassion for the poor kids.”

“Were you an intern once?” Lexa asked, knowing they were straying into the kind of conversational territory that sent Clarke fleeing like a spooked animal.

To her surprise, though, Clarke smiled a little wistfully and stared down at her juice. “No. My roommate was, I got to hear about all the fun from her.”

“Your roommate.” Lexa said, as if she were trying out the idea. Apart from the conversation they’d had that time Clarke had cooked for Lexa, this was more about Clarke’s past than she’d ever heard – even just knowing that Clarke had a roommate in college who did an internship counted as intimate knowledge. The things she’d heard about Clarke’s mother and family, and that she was a pre-med student in college – that was all superficial stuff. Anything deeper than that, anything that Clarke actually cared about, it was usually off limits.

“Yeah. She studied law too, actually.” Clarke said with a smile, thinking about Octavia and swallowing the last of her juice. “I hadn’t seen her in almost ten years. Not since graduating.”

“Hadn’t?”

Clarke met Lexa’s gaze with a smile, the kind that was bright and genuine and reached her eyes. The kind that made Lexa feel light inside for reasons she couldn’t quite explain. “Yeah. I... I met up with her again last week.”

“That would have been nice,” Lexa said mildly.

Clarke looked back down, her features still radiating happiness. “It was. She hasn’t changed a bit.”

Lexa figured she could push her luck just a bit more. “Have you?”

Glancing up, Clarke’s smile faltered. “Yes. I’m not the same now as I was then. I’m... I’m a completely different person.”

Lexa leaned her elbows on the counter and leaned forward. “How so?”

Something seemed to snap in Clarke’s eyes, and whatever haze of contentedness that had allowed her to share so much with Lexa was broken. Her eyes narrowed and her brow furrowed, and she looked away, back to hiding behind that wall. While Clarke’s gaze was elsewhere, Lexa took the chance to look at her a little, take in the now familiar way her mouth would tighten when she was feeling cornered or was receding from a conversation the way she was now. Every time they came close to talking about something important or real, they backtracked onto something trivial, or shut down the conversation all together. How long, Lexa wondered, would they continue like this? Talking without ever really _talking?_

Clarke had frozen completely still, and when Lexa frowned and looked over at her, her eyes were wide. “What’s wrong?”

Clarke nodded at the counter. “Look.”

Lexa glanced down at the pregnancy test, and took in the sight of two parallel pink lines on the indicator.

She looked up at Clarke. “Is that - ?”

“Yeah.”

“Does that mean - ?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re – “

“ _Yeah.”_

They stared at each other, wide eyed and stunned, before laughter burst from Clarke, and her eyes were lit up with disbelief. Her laughter echoed through the room, and before Lexa even knew what she was doing, she was grinning back, chuckling. Clarke walked around the bench to pull Lexa in for a crushing hug.

Flush against Clarke, something squirmed in Lexa’s stomach and she swallowed down a dry throat, no longer laughing. When Clarke pulled away, Lexa felt the loss of warmth, even though the blonde haired girl kept her hands on Lexa’s arms. “I can’t believe it,” Clarke laughed, shaking her head. “I’m _pregnant.”_

“I can’t believe it either,” Lexa said slowly. A few beats of silence passed, where they just stared at each other, eyes wide with uncertainty and a little fear. Lexa blinked. “We should schedule an appointment with the doctor.”

Clarke seemed startled, and dropped her arms. She shrugged. “Uh – sure.”

“We need to make absolute sure before doing anything,” Lexa said quickly. “Those tests aren’t a hundred percent.”

“Okay,” Clarke said, smiling a little again. “I’ll check my roster.”

“Perfect,” Lexa said, with a smile.

Clarke smiled back for a moment, and for what felt like the longest stretch of time, they were just standing there, staring at one another and smiling like lunatics. Finally though, Clarke was the first one to look away. She plucked up the pregnancy test and threw it in the bin before walking over to the dining table, where her bag was, and slinging it over her shoulder. “Well, I’m working this afternoon, I should get moving.”

“Alright. Would you like a - ”

“I’m taking the bus straight to work, It’s not so far from here,” Clarke said at once. She patted her bag. “Got my uniform with me and everything. Thanks, though.”

Lexa nodded. “Okay.”

Clarke offered her a small smile before walking over to the door. Something seized Lexa then, some sudden urge that probably had something to do with the disappointment that came with saying goodbye to Clarke. “Clarke,” she called, and the other woman stopped. “Would you like to have dinner?”

Clarke blinked, surprised. “Dinner. Tonight?”

“Yes. To... To celebrate the good news. I’ll pick you up from work if you like.”

Clarke considered it for a moment. “We’d have to stop by my place so I can get changed, but...” she smiled over at Lexa, and the room seemed to become several shades brighter. “I’d like that.”

“Good,” Lexa said firmly.

“See you tonight then,” Clarke said, waving over her shoulder as she pulled the front door to Lexa’s apartment closed behind her.

Lexa let out a breath when the apartment was empty and silent again.

Even though they never really talked about anything that was important or personal to them, Clarke still had some kind of power about her. She had breezed into Lexa’s life like a light wind (or maybe a hurricane?) and somehow she’d made Lexa feel like Clarke had always been here, had always been a part of her life.

 _It’s probably because you haven’t had an actual friend in years,_ Lexa told herself sternly. And it _was_ nice to have a friend – whether Clarke considered them friends or not, who could tell, but it was good to have someone to talk to who wasn’t family. Clarke was easy to get along with in a way most of her family just wasn’t, and she had a smile that made Lexa feel strange in the stomach.

Actually, come to think of it, Lexa realised she spent an unusually large amount of time thinking about Clarke’s smile. And Clarke’s face. And the way Clarke moved when she walked, or the way her eyes crinkled when she laughed. And, even, the exact shade of blue that was Clarke’s eyes.

But Clarke was an excellent friend, the friend that Lexa hadn’t realised she’d been needing. And so what if she wanted to ask her friend out to dinner? There was nothing wrong with that.

She looked down and clasped her hands together, a smile spreading across her face.

Clarke was pregnant. It was happening.

She was going to be a mother.

 

* * * * *

 

Lincoln was the first person she told. She called him at work, and they agreed to meet up for lunch. When he arrived at the café they were supposed to be meeting at, his eyes narrowed in suspicion when he took him her smile. “Hey,” he said cautiously. “What’s going on, Lex?”

Lexa just smiled. “My surrogate is pregnant,” she said.

Lincoln’s face split into a wide grin. “Are you kidding me?! That’s awesome!”

“It is,” Lexa agreed.

“So what now?” Lincoln asked, flipping the pages of the café menu absent mindedly in his hands. “Doctors and stuff?”

“Yeah, Doctors and stuff.” Lexa said, flicking open her own menu as a café waiter came over, smiling.

They ordered their food and drinks, and as the waiter walked back to the kitchen, Lexa turned back to Lincoln to see him smiling at her, staring almost unnervingly. Her eyes narrowed. “What.”

Lincoln shrugged. “Nothing. Just wondering when I’m going to be able to meet this ‘Clarke.’”

Lexa stared. “Why do you want to meet her?”

“Well I dunno,” Lincoln said with a chuckle. “she’s part of the process, might as well make her feel like it.”

“You mean introduce her to Indra and Anya?” Lexa’s eyes had narrowed again.

Lincoln raised his palms, shaking his head. “Whoa, no one’s asking you to do that.” He sighed, shrugging. “I’d just – I’d like to meet her is all. What’s she like?”

“Shes –“ Lexa paused, her mouth falling shut. What was Clarke? Put into words, what was Clarke really? She couldn’t explain why, but putting Clarke into words felt like an injustice to her. Lincoln was expecting a few short words, a handful of adjectives that were somehow meant to sum Clarke up, but what was she supposed to say? “She’s good.” Lexa said. “I like her.”

Lincoln laughed, shaking his head. “I still can’t believe you went for the burger flipper.”

“She studied pre-med in college,” Lexa said petulantly. “She’s smart.” She felt the need to defend Clarke, even though she knew there was nothing wrong with working at takeout restaurants. Lincoln wasn’t nearly as haughty as Indra and Anya, but he still had a kind of internalised condescension from being raised in the same family as them. Their entire family was like this, looking down at almost everyone, and it hurt her that anyone would look down on Clarke.

Lincoln chuckled affectionately. “Alright, alright.” He looked at her carefully. “I get it. Well, as long as you trust her. I mean, you’re going to be stuck with her for nine months.” Lexa was silent, nodding gratefully as the waiter returned to put their food and drinks down. Lincoln leaned forward. “I mean – maybe we could all have dinner some time?”

Lexa thought about it. “I suppose that would be alright,” she said slowly. “I’ll talk to Clarke about it.” She shifted, suddenly keen to change the subject. “What about you? Are you seeing anyone at the moment?”

Lincoln rolled his eyes and huffed, making Lexa resist the urge to smile. “First Anya, now _you.”_ He crossed his arms. “Why is this so important to you both?!”

“I want to see you happy,” Lexa said, sipping her coffee. “Anya just likes weddings.”

Lincoln spluttered. “You guys are unbearable! Your sister keeps sending me pictures of her workmates and friends and their cousins and – and – I have no idea why she’s so desperate to marry me off!”

Lexa laughed. “Anya is convinced you live in that squalid little apartment because you’re going through a phase, and she thinks that if you settle down you’ll see the light.”

“’See the light?’” Lincoln said skeptically, as Lexa’s smile widened. “Does that mean moving to the Upper East Side into an expensive townhouse? _And,”_ Lincoln shifted, lifting a finger as his brow furrowed. “It’s not _squalid,_ it has two bathrooms!”

Lexa’s eyebrows rose. “Indra has a holiday house in the Greek Islands. Two bathrooms is _poverty_ to her.”

Lincoln huffed, rolled his eyes as he took a sip of his drink. “God, I hate this family sometimes.”

“Don’t say that.”

“Not all the time.” Lincoln sighed. “You can’t say they don’t annoy you too – with how difficult they’re being about this whole baby thing.”

“They’re just – “

“I know, I know. You think they’re doing what they think is best for you.” Lincoln frowned at her. “Have you ever considered that maybe they don’t _know_ what’s best for you?”

Lexa sighed, and leaned back in her chair. “I... I have considered it.”

Lincoln threw his hands in the air. “And we have a breakthrough.”

“It’s just... It’s just strange. Indra and I are a lot alike and she has a daughter, and yet she doesn’t think I should have children of my own. And Anya, Anya seems almost supportive sometimes. Then suddenly she seems to decide that I wouldn’t be a suitable mother. It’s just confusing.” She looked down at the sandwich on her plate, frowning. It felt wrong talking about her family like this, but there was a pit of anxiety and embarrassment whenever she thought about how little her sisters approved of what she was doing. “I just wish they could understand.”

“Understand what?”

“Understand...” Lexa trailed off. _Understand why I want to have a baby._ What if she didn’t even know why she wanted to have a baby. She’d told Anya it was because she wanted what Anya had. She told herself it was because her family had gotten smaller since her parents had died. Maybe she wasn’t so sure anymore. She looked away. “I don’t know. Just... Just understand.”

Lincoln sighed, swallowing the last of his food and offering her a weak smile. “Well, you gotta talk to them to make them understand. Have you seen Anya since that dinner? Have you called Indra?”

“I think Indra’s out of the country.” Lexa said at once. “And Anya...” She paused, falling silent.

Lincoln reached out to put a hand on Lexa’s shoulder. “I know how much you care about your family. As weird as it seems, they don’t always know better than you. But sometimes, you also gotta make the first move.”

Lexa took a deep breath. “I’ll talk to them when I’m ready.” She decided firmly. “I’m far too busy with work at the moment.”

Lincoln sighed sadly. “Alright, Lexa.”

 

* * * * *

 

Lexa pulled up alongside the Mcdonalds that matched the address on her phone, and immediately locked her car doors. She peered out the windows with gritted teeth. This was a neighbourhood that Indra would never be caught dead in. It was smoggy, dirty and the people here somehow even just looked different to the people Lexa usually associated with.

She had known at once where to take Clarke for dinner – there was a restaurant not far from where she lived that has been there so long that she had even eaten there as a child. It’s where her family had held all birthday dinners and other celebratory events for as long as she could remember – what’s more, it was one of the nicest, most exclusive places to eat. Lexa’s grandfather had known the man who founded the place, and now even when they were fully booked, they could always make an exception if any of the Woods were after a table. So she had definitely picked out her nicest dress, a dark maroon piece, because of the niceness of the restaurant, not because of the company she would be in.

Speaking of the company, it wasn’t long before she spotted Clarke walking out of the building, her eyes down at her phone and her brow furrowed. She was slightly flushed and a thin layer of sweat glistened on her skin, but it did nothing to minimalize how pretty she was, Lexa thought, before immediately chastising herself for having such a ridiculous thought. Though granted, anyone who could pull of that Mcdonalds uniform was something pretty special. At that moment though, Clarke’s eyes fell on Lexa’s car, and her lips spread in a wide grin as she waved.

Lexa waved back, and watched as Clarke came over, pulling her bag higher onto her shoulder and climbing into the passenger seat. “Hey!”

“Hello,” Lexa greeted, pulling away from the curb as Clarke put on her seat belt. “How was your day?”

“Crappy,” Clarke said brightly. “But now it’s improving.”

Lexa blinked, almost running a red light because she was trying to work out whether Clarke’s words had been intended as flirty, or whether she was just reading it wrong. When she glanced over at the passenger seat, Clarke’s face was impassive as she stared back. “How was your day?”

“Good,” Lexa said lightly. “Busy.”

“Busy good?”

Lexa’s brow furrowed. “Is busy bad?”

“Busy can be bad.” Clarke said absent mindedly, checking something on her phone. “Busy is bad when it keeps you from things you’d rather be doing.” Then she clicked her tongue irritably and threw her phone into her bag.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah, fine.”

Lexa frowned.

Clarke rolled her eyes. “Finn just hasn’t texted me back. We... we had a fight.”

Lexa glanced over at Clarke, and was confused to see the other woman’s blank expression hadn’t faltered. Finn wasn’t one of Lexa’s favourite people – he reminded her to much of her clients, and not in a good way. Too easy and fake a smile, and he was the type that knew exactly what people wanted to hear. They were dangerous people. Manipulative people. Lexa wondered whether Finn was one of Clarke’s off-limit topics. Given that off-limit topics tended to be anything she cared deeply about, maybe just the fact that she would or wouldn’t talk about Finn would be a good indication about the situation there. She was about to ask, but they pulled up at Clarke’s apartment building and Lexa parked the car.

Clarke unbuckled her seatbelt. “I might be a couple of minutes.” She hesitated. “You can come up if you like.” She added grimly.

“Alright,” Lexa said, her brows furrowing.

They walked up the stairs that Lexa had walked up the other night when taking Clarke home. It was better lit now, the sun hadn’t yet gone down and it was casting golden light over the stairwell. Lexa glanced at all the doors they passed – some were chipped and in need of a repaint, and others were even sectioned off with tape that proclaimed the area unsafe. One even had a hole carved out of it, as if someone had taken an axe to the wood. Lexa frowned, but said nothing.

Clarke had to wrestle her apartment door open with the key, kicking it a certain way to make it swing open on rusted hinges. “I am so sorry for the mess,” she said sincerely. “And for the... well, the everything.”

Lexa followed her inside, and resisted the urge to gasp. This place was _tiny._ It would be difficult just for one person to live here just on their own, but the idea of both Clarke and Finn living in this shoebox was completely astonishing. The kitchen, living area, bedroom and bathroom were all in the same tiny room, the bathroom only sectioned off with a flimsy wooden partition. Perhaps it wouldn’t seem quite as small as it did, though, without the multitude of cardboard boxes that were stacked around the place. They were everywhere, and Lexa watched as Clarke stepped easily over a formidable pile of them to get at a box by the bed.

“This place is... nice....” Lexa said weakly.

Clarke gave a withering look. “Yeah, yeah, I get it.” She sighed, pulling something that looked like a piece of clothing out of the box, closely followed by a makeup bag. “It’s not permanent anyway.” She looked at the clothing in her hands and looked over at Lexa apologetically. “My other dresses are in other boxes, I’m sorry to say. So, I have no idea where we’re going, but it’s this or nothing.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Lexa said, frowning. Clarke disappeared behind the bathroom partition to get changed, and Lexa sat down on the couch. _It’s not permanent._ She sighed, looking around at the room as she felt something click in her knowledge of Clarke, some small realisation. She privately thought she had been right to worry about Clarke running away. The fact that her address had changed between the time it took for her to apply as a surrogate and for her to meet Lexa, the fact that her apartment existed in boxes – it all pointed to the notion that Clarke was a runner. Lexa had been right – her surrogate was like a ghost. And she was lying if she said it didn’t make her uneasy.

Lexa got up and walked around the apartment – a trail that didn’t take very long. She peered at the walls, where dark marks could either indicate mould or that someone had taken a blowtorch to it. It could be either, all things considered. She peered at the boxes, at the messy marker scrawl that proclaimed boxes that were _Finn’s stuff, Clarke’s books,_ and _kitchen stuff._ An entire apartment was right here in these boxes. She paused at a box labelled _Paintings._ Why would they carry something as useless and superficial as paintings? With the life Finn and Clarke seemed to live, what use for paintings did they have, especially if they never even left the box?

She didn’t have much more time to wonder, because Clarke drew back the partition and walked out into the open, making Lexa stop and turn. “Okay, I’m good to go,” Clarke said, picking up her bag. “It’s not pretty, but It’ll do,” she said, smoothing down the dress.

Lexa swallowed and nodded. What she would never have said, _ever,_ was that even though Clarke had barely taken ten minutes to get changed, she looked ridiculously good. The dress, black with a hemline that rested a little above the knee, seemed to be made of cheap material, and yet Clarke was wearing it the way an actor might wear a designer piece on a red carpet. Her hair fell about her shoulders and face in waves, no longer greasy and sweaty looking as it did when it was tied up, but long and beautiful. “You look nice,” Lexa said, before she could stop herself. Nice was an understatement. Nice was for polite strangers and friendly cashiers. Clarke was stunning.

She rolled her eyes and started towards the door. “Come on,” Clarke said. “Let’s get out of here.”

Lexa was eager to leave this claustrophobic place, and happily walked out the door as Clarke held it open for her. She felt Clarke’s gaze follow her along as she started down the stairwell. “You look nice too,” Clarke hummed thoughtfully, as though she’d only just noticed what Lexa had been wearing. Her brow furrowed as she joined Lexa on the stairs, walking down side by side. “Wait, where are we going anyway?” Clarke wondered, almost suspiciously. “It’s not too fancy is it?”

Lexa was silent for a moment, thinking. “No,” she lied. “It’s not too fancy.” If being somewhere nice was going to cause Clarke anguish, she may as well save it for later, like when they actually pulled up at the restaurant.

On the drive back to the car, Clarke was talking animatedly about changes to the bus routes, and how they were going to make her commute to walk much longer. Her voice rose and she gesticulated as she spoke about how ridiculous the changes were going to be. Lexa said nothing, just listened to the way Clarke’s voice rose and fell when she was invested in what she was talking about.

“What are you smiling about?” Clarke snapped playfully, shifting in her seat to stare at Lexa.

Lexa let her face fall blank. She hadn’t realised she’d started smiling. “Nothing.” She said lightly.

When they pulled up at the door of the restaurant and got out, there was a staff member there to park the car. Lexa handed him her keys and a tip, and he passed back a receipt before he climbed into Lexa’s car and started moving it to the parking area. Clarke watched the entire exchange through eyes narrowed with suspicion and disbelief. “Oh no,”

Lexa raised her palms, as if trying to placate a spooked animal. “Clarke, it’s not – “

“You told me we weren’t going anywhere fancy!” Clarke exclaimed, her hands on her head in panic.

“I told you it’s _not too_ fancy. That still implies a certain degree of fanciness.”

“You’re not helping!” Clarke groaned, looking around at the other people who were entering and exiting the restaurant. The place was close enough to Broadway that people could have dinner before a show and then just walk to the theatres, and Lexa cursed internally when she saw how nicely the people were dressed. “Am I even dressed appropriately?” Clarke said in dismay, looking down at herself.

Apart from the fact that her dress could perhaps use an iron, Lexa privately thought that Clarke looked the best of anyone here. “You look great,” Lexa said, trying to guide Clarke towards the entrance, where there was a short queue of people waiting to be seated. “Come on, let’s just get seated. It’ll be fine.”

Clarke made a groaning, strangled noise as they walked over to the entrance, where a brightly lit sign announced the name of the restaurant as ‘ _The Grounder,’_ and Lexa resisted the urge to laugh. As they approached the door, the doorman waved them over. “Miss Woods, are you ready? You can be seated now.”

“Thank you,” Lexa nodded. “We’re ready now.”

Lexa poked Clarke’s back to get her to move and they strolled inside, past the queue of waiting patrons, into a wide, ornate room with polished wooden tables from one end to another. It was familiar to Lexa, but Clarke seemed to be having trouble taking it all in. She stared openly at a mural on the back wall of a night sky, blue and purple strokes of paint wound together with white and gold shapes forming constellations along the wall. Everything else in the room seemed to be gold – the chandeliers, the furniture, the cutlery – it was all shining and gold, and it seemed to terrify Clarke.

“Your usual table Miss Woods?” The doorman asked, still with them.

Lexa glanced over at Clarke, who seemed to be in a state of terror, looking around at the other people and trying to make herself as small and invisible as possible. “Actually, perhaps we’ll be taking a booth tonight.” Lexa said slowly.

The man led them to a more private set of tables, booths that kept those sitting at them out of sight. Lexa thanked him, and she and Clarke sat down facing each other.

Clarke cleared her throat and straightened up. “I hate you.”

Lexa actually laughed. “I’m sorry. I should have warned you.”

Clarke picked up the menu and held it in front of her face, mumbling darkly. Lexa didn’t need to see the menu. She’d known it by heart since she was fourteen. Instead, she watched as Clarke put her menu down again and flipped through it, brows furrowing and a frown appearing on her face. Lexa stared, watching the other woman’s discomfort. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Clarke said at once. She had another look around the restaurant. “What did that guy mean by ‘your usual table?’ How often do you come here?”

“Since I was young.” Lexa said, watching Clarke’s eyebrows raise. “My grandfather knew the founder of the Grounder, we’ve always eaten here.”

Clarke shook her head, staring. “Wow. You must have had some childhood.”

Lexa shrugged, because what could you say to that? Instead, she remembered something she’d been thinking about earlier and caught Clarke’s eye. “Finn didn’t want to come out to dinner too?” She asked lightly, knowing full well she was only asking this to see what Clarke was willing to say about her boyfriend.

Clarke paused, chewing her lip. “No.” She said, before her frown deepened. “I haven’t seen Finn in a while.”

Lexa blinked. “Don’t you live together?”

“Yeah,” Clarke sighed. “But I see him maybe a couple times a week these days, and we barely say more than two words to each other.”

There was a few beats of silence, during which Lexa was steeling her resolve and trying to get brave enough to ask. “Do you want to talk about it?” She asked, trying to sound casual.

Clarke paused to stare at Lexa, her face impassive. They stayed like that, just staring at one another, wondering who was going to break and speak first, for what felt like a while. It wasn’t awkward, Lexa noticed with interest, but there was a kind of tenseness that had more to do with anticipation of discomfort. Finally though, Clarke sighed. “I met him not long after I moved here, you know. I’ve lived with him ever since.”

“How long is that?”

“Six, maybe seven years.”

Something in Lexa felt disappointed by this, but she couldn’t say why. “That’s a long time.”

Clarke nodded, and she looked down at her menu, even though it was closed and put down on the table. “Finn is important to me. Even if we fight, that doesn’t change.”

 _Don’t ask, Don’t ask, Don’t ask –_ “Do you fight often?” – _Dammit._ She winced internally at such a personal question.

Bizarrely, it didn’t seem to faze Clarke. “Constantly,” she sighed. “But it’s not like that.”

Whatever _that_ was, Lexa never got to find out, because the waiter arrived at their table, asking if they were ready to order. They both ordered water, and Lexa was first to order food. She wasn’t one for surprises – she’d ordered the same thing since she was about eighteen – The Grounder did a mean rump steak in mushroom sauce.

Clarke, however, hesitated. She stared at the closed menu for a moment before murmuring “the pumpkin soup, thank you,” and handing her menu over. She still looked uneasy, and Lexa frowned. Opening her mouth to say something, though, Clarke cut her off. “What about you?”

Lexa paused. “What about me what?”

Clarke leaned forward, smiling almost playfully. “You’re asking questions about me, and I’m answering. How about your turn?”

Her stomach tightening a little, Lexa’s frown deepened. “What do you want to know?” She asked cautiously.

Clarke laughed. “Calm down there, I’m not about to ask your credit card details. I just think we should know each other better, since we’re stuck with one another for the next nine months.”

“Okay,” Lexa said slowly, thinking that being ‘stuck with’ Clarke wasn’t such a bad thing, really.

“You’re not seeing anyone?” Clarke asked innocently, leaning back in her chair.

Lexa’s lips pursed. “No. If I had, you would have met them by now.”

“I guess that’s true. Your family, then,” Clarke said thoughtfully. “All I know is that you have two sisters and a cousin close by. Parents?”

“Dead, not too long ago.” Lexa said matter-of-factly.

“Oh,” Clarke’s eyes seemed to soften, but it was only for a moment, then that curious glint was back. “Were you close?”

“We were family,” Lexa said.

“That doesn’t answer my question,” Clarke smiled.

Lexa huffed. “I got on well with them.”

“Were they lawyers too?”

“My father was.” Lexa said slowly, remembering vividly the smell of old legal books stacked high in her father’s library. She glanced across the table to see Clarke leaning forward, smiling slightly and her eyes soft. “What?”

“What were you thinking about just now?”

Lexa shrugged. “My father’s library, in the house I grew up in. He had all his legal books in it. Wall to wall shelves, _full_ of books. Not just non-fiction either, but my favourite shelf had the history books on it. I’d read most of them by the time I was seventeen.” She smiled down at the table. “Anya and I used to make forts out of the books and play armies and invaders. Father used to be furious, he - ” She froze, stopping herself and looking back up to see Clarke smiling warmly.

“Anya. Is that your sister?” She asked.

“Yes.” Lexa said slowly. How had Clarke managed to get her talking about her childhood when she had barely ever spoken about this with _anyone?_ It hadn’t even been forced out of her, she had opened her mouth and said these things of her own accord. Her business partners at the legal firm, some had known her since her law school days, and even they didn’t know her sister’s name. Having someone else know these things about her was both strange and wonderful. She hesitated, before speaking again. Sullenly, like she didn’t really want to talk, but was going to anyway. “My step sister’s name is Indra, and my cousin’s name is Lincoln.”

Clarke hummed, as if she really was taking this information in and storing it somewhere in that clever blonde head. “Unusual names.”

Lexa’s eyebrows rose. “Says the girl named ‘Clarke.’”

Clarke laughed and quirked an eyebrow, shrugging in a ‘you’re-not-wrong,’ kind of way. “Named after Arthur C. Clarke,” she explained. “I had one of _those_ kind of Dads.” She chuckled.

“A reader?”

“A reader, an engineer, a dreamer.” Clarke shrugged. “Lexa.” She said, and Lexa felt something strange and warm watching the blonde haired girl say her name. “Short for anything?”

“Alexandria.”

“Like the city?”

“Like the city.” Lexa nodded. “Well, the library. I suppose I had one of _those_ kind of fathers too.” She leaned forward a little. “What about your mother?”

Clarke frowned. “What about her?”

“You told me that she doesn’t approve of your decisions.” Lexa prompted.

“And she doesn’t.” Clarke said shortly, and Lexa cursed when she could pretty much see Clarke receding from the conversation, her eyes suddenly hard.

Lexa lifted her chin, desperate to keep Clarke talking. “So you only have Finn with you? Here in the city?” She said quickly.

Clarke thought for a moment. “Until recently,” she said. “Yeah. Finn and I have been through a lot together.”

Lexa stared at Clarke for a moment, as a strange look crossed the blonde girl’s eyes. “It must have been hard.” Lexa said. It wasn’t a question.

Clarke was still and silent for a long moment, and for a while Lexa didn’t think she was going to answer. The only sound around them was the dull hum of other restaurant patrons talking and clattering silverware, and the quiet sound of classical music over the speakers, soft enough not to be oppressive. Finally though, Clarke frowned. “Yeah. It’s been hard. We’ve... we’ve moved around a lot. Most of those boxes in the apartment haven’t been unpacked at all in years, we move so often there’s no point.”

“What about the paintings?” Lexa asked suddenly, remembering the box marked ‘paintings.’ She frowned when a look of shock crossed Clarke’s face as the blonde girl went tense. Clarke leaned back, both in her seat and away from the conversation, and Lexa felt a distinct feeling of dismay. “I just – I’m sorry, I saw a box labelled paintings in your apartment, I just wondered – whether – I don’t know, whether they have sentimental value or – “

“Yeah.” Clarke said sharply, eying Lexa carefully. “That’s – yeah. Sentimental value.”

Lexa didn’t think she’d ever felt worse than this, having somehow offended Clarke and scared her off all at once. Thankfully, she wasn’t left to stew in this feeling for very long, the waiter arriving with their food before too long. She smiled at the sight of her food, but her smile faltered when she looked over at Clarke’s bowl of soup, which was much smaller than Lexa’s own meal – the pumpkin soup, after all, was on the entrée menu, not the mains. Why would Clarke order something like that? Something clicked in Lexa’s mind as she visualised the menu she’d known by heart since childhood – the pumpkin soup was the cheapest thing on the menu. Something in Lexa’s heart tugged.

They started eating, and even though Clarke’s soup was a small serve, she enjoyed in immensely, taking in a spoonful and her eyes lighting with delight. “Mmm,” she groaned. “That’s incredible,” she said, shaking her head in disbelief. “I haven’t eaten soup this good since – “ she took another spoonful. “ _Ever,”_ she gurgled.

Lexa laughed, relieved that the earlier tension had been dissipated. She dared not try and bring up anything too personal again, that hadn’t gone well. Instead, she was content to eat and enjoy her own food. Perhaps, though, she was getting even more enjoyment from watching Clarke delight over every mouthful of her soup. Every now and then, she mutter something about how delicious it was, once even moaning, which was innocent enough but somehow made Lexa feel not very innocent at all.

“So,” Clarke said, as she had her eyes on her soup. “I’ve been researching pregnancy.”

“Not a bad idea,” Lexa said, her eyes crinkling in amusement. “Given that you are, in fact, pregnant.”

Clarke rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah. I mean, I researched a week by week sort of thing.” She pointed at her stomach and looked over at Lexa, eyebrows raised. “You know this thing is only, like, the size of a pin right now?”

Lexa stared at where Clarke was pointing. “You’re only three weeks pregnant.”

“Yeah, but there’s a _thing_ in there.”

“That’s kind of the point,” Lexa laughed, but something warm and disbelieving was blooming inside her too, as it clearly was with Clarke. It was hard enough to believe that she herself was going to be a mother, but the thing (they had to stop calling the baby a thing, Lexa told herself,) was already there. It was already cooking, getting ready to be a human being, and it was astonishing to believe. “What else did you research?”

Clarke shrugged. “Just the usual ‘what to expect’ kind of stuff. Sounds horrific,” she said cheerfully, shovelling the last of her soup into her mouth contentedly. “But I’ve got a little while to go before my bladder gets crushed and back gets destroyed by the little critter.”

Lexa chuckled, cutting up her steak and continuing to eat. She watched Clarke stare out around the restaurant, the fear and embarrassment gone from her eyes, leaving only appreciation. She watched the blonde girl’s eyes linger on the mural on the wall and the chandeliers. Lexa looked down at her own meal and felt distinctly unhappy. Her plate was enormous, and she’d barely made a dent in the amount of food on it, while Clarke’s bowl was empty. “Would you like to try some steak?” Lexa asked, and Clarke looked over, surprised. “It’s good.”

“Uh – okay,” Clarke said carefully. Lexa loaded a fork with steak and offered it for Clarke, but instead of taking the fork off her, Clarke leaned forward to eat the food straight off it. Lexa blinked, surprised, but surprise soon turned to amusement as Clarke rolled her eyes and groaned long and loud, leaning back into her seat. “Oh my _god.”_

Lexa shifted in her seat, laughing. “Good?”

“God, yes!” Clarke said. She shook her head, perfectly serious in her disbelief. “I cannot believe you eat here on the regular. It’s just – I can’t even believe it.”

Lexa smiled. “The Grounder is a great restaurant,” she agreed. She, herself, had thought the steak good, but the way Clarke had chewed it, enjoyed it, made her remember exactly how good it was. She paused, looking down at her food. Leaning forward, she took hold of Clarke’s empty and drying bowl, and sawed off some of her steak into pieces, loading it into the bowl.

“What are you doing?” Clarke said sharply.

“Here,” Lexa said, dropping some vegetables and sweet-potato chips into the bowl and sliding it back over to her.

“I’m not going to eat your dinner,” Clarke shook her head resolutely, moving to slide the bowl back.

“Well I’m not eating it,” Lexa said stubbornly. “So you’d better.”

Clarke stared at her strangely, like she was trying to work something out. Then, she smiled and started eating the steak happily. “I guess,” she reasoned, “I _am_ eating for two now.”

“Yes you are,” Lexa smiled.

Clarke paused eating for a moment to offer Lexa a warm smile. “Thank you,” she said softly.

“You’re welcome,” Lexa said, smiling back.

 

* * * * *

 

By the time Lexa pulled up alongside Clarke’s apartment building, they had only just finished a fifteen-minute long argument about which was the better of the Harry Potter movies. It was easy to fall into comfortable conversation with Clarke, about things that Lexa wouldn’t even consider discussing with anyone else she knew – Lincoln, maybe, but things were always different with Clarke.

Lexa got out of the car too, and this time Clarke didn’t even say anything. They walked into the building and up the stairs in comfortable silence. “This’ll be fun when I’m the size of the moon,” Clarke grunted as they climbed the levels of the building.

When they finally reached the level Clarke’s apartment was on, Lexa felt something uncomfortable squirm in her stomach. The idea of Clarke going back into that apartment to wriggle over and around boxes and get into that messy little bed make her wish she could force the blonde haired girl to stay in one of the spare rooms in her apartment. But, of course, this entire idea was ridiculous – Clarke was her own person with her own apartment.

When they got to the door, Clarke turned and surprised Lexa by circling her in a tight hug. Lexa lifted her hands to Clarke’s back and squeezed her, feeling some kind of small explosion of happiness burst in her chest. When they parted again, Clarke grinned at her. “I had a nice time. We should go there more.”

“We should.” Lexa agreed weakly. As Clarke made to open her door, Lexa hesitated. “Clarke – “ the blonde haired girl paused. “I’ve made the payment into your account, the first part of your fee should go through in the next couple of days.”

Something like total joy and ecstasy crossed Clarke’s eyes, and her grin widened impossibly. “Yeah? Awesome! Thanks, Lexa.”

Lexa watched as Clarke unlocked her door. “Goodbye, Clarke.”

“See you, Lexa.”

“Don’t forget to take your vitamins.”

“Yeah, yeah!” Clarke laughed teasingly, closing the door and leaving Lexa in the stairwell alone.

She swallowed hard, thinking about Clarke’s face when Lexa had said the money had been paid. She thought about all the things they’d said over dinner, and she thought about the warm pit of happiness she’d felt when Clarke’s face had lit up when she’d tried the steak. She thought about how Lexa had managed to convince her that she didn’t need to chip in on the bill, that it made sense for Lexa to pay. That it was Lexa’s treat. How Clarke had made her promise to let her pay for the next meal, even though Lexa knew that Clarke would never be able to afford both their meals if they ever went back to the same restaurant.

She walked down the stairs, suddenly seeling sick and tired. She’d loved seeing how happy the food had made Clarke, loved seeing how Clarke had opened up, even just a little bit, over dinner. She admitted to herself with resignation that she had loved seeing Clarke, full stop. Let alone in a dress that Clarke wore like she didn’t think anyone else ever could. She had always realised that she was attracted to Clarke – who wouldn’t be, Clarke was beautiful! – but she was coming dangerously close to feeling something that was a little more than attraction. Interest, maybe, in where exactly the vanilla scent of her skin came from, and whether it tasted that way too. Interest in exactly what Lexa could say or do to keep that smile on the blonde girl’s face forever.

Lexa walked out into the street and climbed back into the car. And yet, she’d seen herself how Clarke had lit up at the mention of the money. It was then that it had all come crashing down – Clarke wasn’t her friend, Clarke was her paid surrogate. She was only doing a job, and when the job was done and she was paid, would they ever even see each other again, let alone be friends? Lexa thought back to the contract she had had Clarke sign. It had facilitated no contact at all between child and birth mother, but she had written that back when she had no idea who Clarke was, really. She had no idea how she felt about it now.

She pressed her face against the steering wheel and groaned. There was really only one thing for it. This required a return to the strictest business relationships.

Whatever inappropriateness Lexa was feeling was going to have to go. And like any feeling, Lexa knew, she could block herself to it.

She had always been good at that.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This Chapter: Things change for Clarke - for better or worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N - Aww I have a weird relationship with this chapter. There's a bit of weirdness with time in the beginning, I hope the flashbacks and such aren't too confusing. It was also hard to write, for reasons that'll become obvious. I just hope you all don't hate me for putting poor Clarke through all this.
> 
> Things will be getting good now, though, I promise - we're at the halfway point of the story, and the latter half of it is my favourite half by far.

 

 

 

 

_CHAPTER EIGHT_

The first thing Clarke did when she woke up on a rainy Tuesday almost four weeks after having dinner with Lexa at the nicest restaurant she’d ever been to in her life, was call Octavia.

Finding Octavia again, almost a decade after having graduated college and saying goodbye to one another, was one of the bigger miracles that had happened to her lately. Certainly a bigger miracle than the thing that was brewing inside her.

She’d called the number Bellamy had given her the very next day after leaving Wells’ apartment, all those weeks ago. The phone had rung for a long time, and for a brief moment, she had a sudden fear that Bellamy had given her a wrong number. There was a clatter from the other end of the line though, as if someone had just picked up the phone, and a bleary but achingly familiar voice groaned “hello?” over the line. Clarke couldn’t speak for a moment, just grinning at the sound of her old roommate’s voice. Octavia, however, had always been capable of one thing above all else – talking. “Who the hell is this?” She demanded of the silence. “You know its like, half past seven right?”

“Octavia,” Clarke croaked, her throat thick with emotion. “It’s me.”

This time, they were both silent, which was a true feat for Octavia. Clarke’s smile widened, and she could almost picture Octavia’s wide eyed, stunned look. “ _Clarke?”_ Octavia breathed down the line. “Holy shit.”

“Holy shit,” Clarke agreed emphatically.

There was another few beats of silence. “Clarke, I... God, it’s been so long.”

“Yeah,” Clarke chuckled. “It really has.” She shook herself when she felt vague tears prick at her eyes. “I ran into Bellamy yesterday and he told me you were in the city. He gave me your number and I... I – “

“I’m really glad he did,” Octavia laughed, and she sounded emotional too. “Clarke, I can’t believe it’s you. Have you been here in the city this whole time?”

“I... yeah – “ Clarke stammered. “I... Octavia what are you doing today? Do you want to have lunch?”

“I’m working, but I can take off for a couple hours to see you,” Octavia said easily. “No problem at all. I work a couple blocks away from Central Park, do you want to meet up there?”

“Sounds great,” Clarke said firmly, and she laughed, for no reason at all but that she was going to be able to see her friend again, after so long.

They hung up not long after, because somehow their conversation had dissolved into fits of laughing about not much, bewildered and ecstatic to hear one another’s voices. Octavia had had to leave for work though, figuring that if she was going to be taking time off work in the middle of the day, she should at least get there early. It wasn’t until after they’d hung up that Clarke realised she hadn’t even asked Octavia what she worked as – she hoped beyond hope that her friend had achieved her dream and had become a lawyer.

At lunch time, Clarke had gone to the park, sitting down at the same bench that Lexa had been sitting at when they’d happened across one another all those weeks ago. Good things happened at this bench, she had told herself. She sent off a text to Octavia telling her where they were meeting, and it wasn’t long before Octavia was waving at her from down the path, grinning from ear to ear.

Clarke jumped up from her seat, and was running over before she even really knew what she was doing. Octavia broke into a run too, and neither slowed down as they collided in a forceful, crashing hug. They were both laughing then, hugging one another tightly and realising just how long it had been. When they finally parted to look at one another, Clarke couldn’t help feeling a little astonished.

Octavia looked as though she hadn’t aged a bit since college. The top of her long, dark hair had been pulled back in a pair of joining braids, and the rest of her hair hung smooth and straight down her back. Her face was lit up in a smile, and her skin was unlined and clean. She wore a white blouse, tucked into a black high-waisted pencil skirt, and Clarke couldn’t help thinking that even if Octavia hadn’t become a lawyer, she was certainly doing alright for herself. Clarke tried not to look down at her own clothes, (her attire was direct from the thrift stores,) and instead shook her head in admiration of Octavia. “Wow,” she said. “ _Please_ tell me you became a lawyer.”

Octavia laughed and they began walking down the path, toward the benches. “Yeah,” She said laughingly. “I became a lawyer.”

“I knew it,” Clarke said matter-of-factly. “The Octavia I knew would never be in that get up unless she was being forced to.”

Octavia smirked. “Yeah, the firm I work at has a real tight dress code policy. I get it’s a Law firm, but still – it should be law that every place has a casual Friday.”

Clarke laughed as they sat down on a bench. “Do you enjoy it?”

“The work?” Octavia thought for a moment. “Yeah, I do. I mean, not in the way I thought I would when we were kids in college. In a different way, I think. But yeah, I like it.”

“Nothing’s the way we thought it would be back then,” Clarke agreed heavily, and Octavia narrowed dark eyes at her.

“What’s that supposed to mean,” She said sharply, suspiciously. Her eyes narrowed. “You became an artist right? I mean, you left to move into the city and become an artist, you must still be painting. Right?”

Clarke swallowed hard. Of all the people she wanted to withhold the truth from, Octavia was not one of them. Octavia was different. She _knew_ Octavia, even if they hadn’t spoken in so long. “No,” Clarke said through a dry throat. “I... I didn’t become an artist.” She was surprised by how difficult it was to say out loud, how the heavy weight of her own failure settled over her like lead, and made even breathing harder to do. It was her own personal failure and her biggest regret and until now, only Finn knew about it.

Octavia was staring at her, and Clarke had to look away. “So – so what did you do?”

Clarke shrugged. “I tried,” she said, her voice bitter. “I kept trying to paint and draw and tried to make money as an artist but it just...” she shrugged again. “It just didn’t work.”

Octavia shook her head. “But Bellamy told me you were exhibiting with him and the others at this exhibition thing, I thought...”

Clarke smiled a little. “This will be the first time I’ll see my paintings up on a wall since college.”

They were silent for a moment, just sitting on the bench and hearing the sound of birds far above them, flitting in between the branches of trees. Octavia shook her head gently, as if saying that it was unbelievable, but Clarke was still, unsmiling. It had only now dawned on her how huge this exhibition was going to be for her – this was make or break now. If she couldn’t get anyone to sit up and pay attention to her paintings now, would she ever be able to? She knew it wasn’t the best attitude to have, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that her art career would either begin or end with this exhibition. It was a fantastic, unbelievable opportunity, but she wasn’t home free yet – there was still a lot of work to be done, and she knew that.

“The exhibition is going to be so great, C.” Octavia said gently. “I just. I know it will be. Bellamy told me all about it.”

Suddenly, Clarke could picture the two of them sitting cross legged on a bed in a college dorm, talking about the future they’d set out for themselves. Any time Clarke would express any kind of vague doubt, Octavia would quash it with a few careless words and an excited smile, and suddenly everything was hopeful and exciting again. “Yeah,” Clarke said, smiling. “I hope so.” She leaned back in the bench, regretting the kind of melancholic sadness that had settled over them. “Are you seeing anyone at the moment?” Clarke asked suddenly, and laughed when Octavia’s eyes widened at such an abrupt question. “I haven’t seen you in so long! I want to know everything that’s been happening.”

Octavia lifted her chin and rolled her eyes. “Okay, okay. No, not seeing anyone. By choice. My own choice. I chose to be single.”

“Whoa, okay, I get it,” Clarke laughed. “Let me guess – bad relationship.”

Octavia pouted. “Ugh, you’re the worst.”

“I can still read you like a book, O.”

“Yeah, bad relationship. It wasn’t long though, which is something. It was just – explosive.” She thought for a second. “I’m glad it happened though.”

Clarke smiled. “That’s how you know it was worth having.” She said.

Octavia stared at her. “What about you?”

“What about me what?”

“What about relationships, loser. You getting any action?”

Clarke thought for a moment. ‘Action’ and Finn didn’t seem to go together. “I guess – I’ve been living with this guy, Finn, for over five years.”

Octavia nearly choked in shock. “Five _years?!_ You’re basically married, C!”

“Oh god,” Clarke said, suddenly laughing at the thought of marrying Finn. “I am _not_ married to Finn. Never!” She shut her mouth, thinking about what she’d just said. Sure, she had been living with him for so long that they were kind of basically married – but Clarke had never been one to imagine and fantasize about what it would be like to get married. If she were to picture that kind of life, however, she liked to think it would be with someone who didn’t disappear for days on end, and who didn’t fight with her and refuse to talk to her. Maybe someone who cared about holding down a job, and helping her out with the rent, and someone who knew that there was more to love and a relationship than just sex. Her lips had pursed and she looked away. “Finn is...” she said slowly. “Finn isn’t like that.”

“Like what?” Octavia said, leaning back and crossing her arms, smiling playfully.

“I don’t know,” Clarke huffed. “He’s not the getting married type. I don’t know where things are going with Finn, and I like it that way. Things have been tough for the past ten years, and Finn’s been through it all with me.”

Octavia nodded, looking out over the park. “I get it, C.” They sat in silence some more, before she turned back to Clarke. “Adulthood turned out weird, huh?”

“Oh yeah.” Clarke said with a sigh. “Weird as hell.”

“I should head back to work,” Octavia said regretfully, standing slowly. “My boss can be a bitch, and she’s really been cracking the whip. Well – kind of.”

Clarke stood too. “Kind of?”

“She’s been pretty mellow lately. Still, I’m not about to push my luck,” Octavia said. “I’ll see you around, C. We’re gonna have to do dinner or something sometime.”

“Definitely.”

And now, weeks later, even weeks after the dinner with Lexa, Clarke was finding herself having to cancel plans with Octavia for the first time. She’d often text Octavia, whenever she suddenly remembered some memory from college or from when they were kids. They’d text back and forth, reminiscing about some good time or another, and Clarke had found herself feeling as though those times had never really ended.

Now, though, with her phone pressed to her ear as she lay wrapped in blankets and doonas in her bed, four weeks after the dinner with Lexa, she couldn’t think of anything worse than getting out of here and meeting Octavia for lunch. “O?” She croaked down the line.

“Hey, Clarke! What’s up?”

“I don’t think I can make lunch today,” Clarke groaned, rolling over and wrapping the blankets tighter around herself. “I’m sorry.”

“You sound like a corpse.” Octavia said brightly. “You should just stay in bed and not infect anyone with whatever the hell you’ve got.”

“I think it’s the Black Death,” Clarke moaned. “I’ve been feeling like I’m about to hurl for the past three hours.”

“The Black Death was bubonic, Clarke. Didn’t you study medicine?”

“Shut up, O.” She paused. “Rain check on Lunch?”

“Rain check for as long as you’re a carrier for the next big epidemic. Take it easy, Clarke.”

“See you.”

“Bye.”

Clarke threw the phone wearily across the room, in the vague direction of the sofa in the living area – the apartment was so tiny it wasn’t like it was too big a distance, really. She groaned long and deep, and tried to think what painkillers she had in their first aid kit. Getting there would require getting out of bed, though, and just the thought of that was making her feel even more ill. She thought back to the past few weeks. There had been a bunch of sick people at work, maybe she’d just picked up some kind of bug.

Ten minutes passed, and she decided that she was being stupid. Nothing was going to change unless she got moving – she pulled herself out of the bed, and started toward the box she thought had their first aid kit in it.

She only needed to take two steps before she realised she wasn’t going to get there.

Clarke managed to make a dive to the partitioned bathroom area of the apartment, and even managed to drag herself over the toilet bowl before she started to throw up.

While she wasn’t in much of a position to time herself, she figured she was hovering over that toilet bowl heaving (both dry and otherwise,) for at least a half hour. Her throat burned and her eyes watered, and she groaned with every turn of her gut. She lay a clenched fist over her stomach and waited for the waves of nausea to pass.

And it did pass, albeit slowly. She leaned against the wall, nestled between two stacks of cardboard boxes. Breathing deeply, she squeezed her eyes closed. Okay, so maybe a day at home was called for. This apartment, though, wasn’t the best of places to ride out sickness – everything about it felt stale and disgusting and mouldy, and it made her feel ten times worse. Then again, the idea of getting out of the apartment felt just as repugnant.

Instead, Clarke laid a hand over her forehead. Frowning, she grunted. She didn’t feel clammy. Crawling back over to the box that she’d tried to get to earlier, the one with the first aid kit in it. Rummaging in it for a moment, she pulled out a digital thermometer and stuck it in her mouth. After a few moments, she took it out. Completely normal. Collapsing back against the wall, cross legged on the floor, her brow furrowed. Maybe she had some kind of stomach bug, but why wouldn’t she have a fever? Her eyes snapped open.

Oh.

Clarke looked down at her stomach, pouting. “Fuck you,” she told her gut (and it’s growing inhabitant,) petulantly.

She was seven weeks pregnant, surely this sort of thing wasn’t so unusual. All the same, the nausea was only just dissipating, and she felt suddenly both irritated and concerned – this was one of the most aggressive signs that she was pregnant that she’d had so far, and it was almost enough to make her panic. Clarke liked to think she’d taken the whole ‘surrogate’ thing pretty casually. However long that was going to last.

Something cut off her line of thought though, something glinting and metallic that reflected the light of the window from beneath the bed. Clarke’s brow furrowed, and she edged closer to the bedframe. She had to creep between a couple of box towers to get at that end of the bed, and she pawed at the metal bed frame where something she couldn’t quite see had caught her eye. Her hand fell on it, and she gave it a tug. It came free from where it was concealed right at the top of the bed, underneath the mattress and between the bars of the bed frame.

She brought it out into the open, and frowned when she saw that she was turning a mobile phone around in her hand. It wasn’t hers, this one was way too nice, a smart phone with a touch screen. It wasn’t Finn’s either, both of them had old used phones. She pressed the power button to turn it on. Maybe the last tenant of the apartment had owned it?

It started up quickly enough, and opened onto a generic home screen. She navigated to the contacts, to see if whoever had owned the phone had left some number in it she could call to find the owner. There was only one contact – ‘RAVEN.’ Weird. Only a first name and a number. She felt some kind of sick pit in her stomach, and figured it was more morning sickness, but somehow this was different – darker somehow, more tense. Like her heart was realising something her head was yet to catch up on.

She pressed the call button, and held the phone to her ear. It rung only for a few minutes before there was a click as the call was answered. “Hey, sweetie!” It was a woman’s voice. She sounded young.

Clarke swallowed through the nausea building up in her gut – nausea that had nothing to do with being pregnant, though she couldn’t say why. “Oh. Uh. I’m sorry, I think whoever owns this phone lost it.” She paused, and there was only silence. “This is the only contact in it, I figured I’d call and see if I could return it to someone.”

There was a small hum from the other end. “Oh. Yeah, sure, thanks. He’s on a business trip, he must be frantic without it.” The voice said slowly, as if thinking hard about something. “Where did you find it?”

“In my apartment,” Clarke said, just as slowly. “I guess... I guess...” she wasn’t sure what she was about to say, maybe some lame piece about how the owner of the phone must have lived in the apartment before her, but somehow that explanation didn’t do anything to alleviate the sick feeling that was growing inside her, starting to make her feel anxious with some kind of dread. She shook her head. “Um – who owns this phone? What’s their name?”

There were a few beats of silence, heavy, loaded silence. “Finn Collins.”

Everything spun around Clarke, and she had to close her eyes. A million emotions flowed through her mind all at once, making her dizzy. She leaned heavily against the wall to anchor herself. “Oh my god.”

The girl on the other end, Raven, was silent for a few moments. “Please tell me you’re not who I think you are.” She said, her voice low with dread and thick with emotion.

“I’m the idiot who’s been living with Finn for the past six years.” Clarke said slowly. “Oh my _god.”_

There was a sniff from the other end of the line. “I fucking _knew_ it.” Raven muttered, and it was clear she was crying.

“How long?” Clarke breathed. “Have you and him - ?”

“Since we were kids,” Raven bit out. “Since High School.”

“I had no idea about you,” Clarke said, her fists clenching. “I had... I had no idea.” She squeezed her eyes shut and gritted her teeth against the waves of emotion rolling through her. Or... maybe it was nausea. It was a little hard to tell.

Raven, astonishingly, shushed her gently. “I know you didn’t. We... we were both fucking idiots.”

Clarke swallowed hard. “Did you suspect - ?”

“Did I suspect my childhood sweetheart had another life with another woman for seven years while he was still with me?” Raven said drily. “Yeah. He’s gone most of the time. I can’t fucking believe.... he told me he got a job and had to live away for business. I believed him, I thought we could do the long distance thing. I _fucking believed him...”_ Raven seemed to sigh angrily. “What’s your name?”

“Clarke.” Clarke put a hand over her mouth and pressed her face into it, feeling tears flow down her cheeks. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.” Raven said, and she heaved a heavy sigh. “Fucking _Christ.”_ There was the sound of something clattering, like she had thrown something against a wall, or smashed something. Clarke didn’t blame her. “Well, Clarke, I think we should both take this opportunity.”

Clarke paused. “To do what?”

“To get away.”

 

* * * * *

 

The most difficult thing that happened next, Clarke decided, was trying to decide what to _do._

She couldn’t stay in the apartment. That much was clear. This place was just as much Finn’s as it was hers, and it wasn’t going to work out if she just stayed here and waited for Finn to get home. Because whether it was this afternoon or in two days, Finn would be back eventually, and just the thought of seeing his face again was making her feel ill.

Speaking of ill, she’d thrown up immediately after hanging up with Raven. This, she knew, was just more morning sickness, but she couldn’t help feeling like the morning she’d had would have had something to do with the nausea.

Clarke figured she could probably fit everything she was going to need in one box. Then she could take it on the bus with her. A bus to where, she couldn’t say. But she planned on taking this one step at a time, and step one was work out what she needed to take with her. She pocketed the Raven phone, she didn’t know why. Maybe because it was a nice phone and she felt she was at least entitled to it. Maybe because it was her link to Raven, and somehow that was comforting.

She piled her own toiletries into an empty cardboard moving box, and then started on her clothes. Things were fitting perfectly until she happened to glance over at the box on the other side of the room, the one marked ‘Paintings.’ Becoming still, she stared at as though she expected it to move at any second.

She couldn’t leave those paintings. Not here.

New plan – try and pile as much stuff on top of the paintings in the box as possible. There was a little room atop the paintings, and she packed clothes and toiletries tightly in around the canvas’. This one was a bigger box, big enough to fit all her paintings, even the ones on bigger canvas’. It meant she’d be able to take less clothes and other possessions than she had with the other box, but at least she’d have her paintings. She put her paintbrushes and the box with her paints, pencils and charcoal in it into the box as well, and then she stood back and stared at the single cardboard box that contained her entire life.

Step two: find somewhere to go.

Clarke used the Raven phone to go on the internet and find a cheap hotel. This lasted a grand total of two minutes, because of course there wasn’t anything cheap within a distance she could reasonably lug her box to. Lexa’s money had gone into her account, so she could afford to stay anywhere, really, but she was going to need every cent of that to pay to Wells for the gallery. The next option was Lexa, which Clarke quickly dismissed, as she did Wells. These were people she absolutely could not put in a position like that – she didn’t want Wells to know how desperate she was any more than she wanted to worry Lexa.

Instead, she did the only thing left she had to do – she called Octavia.

“C? Something wrong?”

Clarke cleared her throat. “I... O, I’m really sorry... I don’t want to have to ask...”

“What is it? You’re kinda worrying me, Clarke.”

“I need somewhere to stay.” Her voice broke as she was saying the words. “I need help. N – not for long, I promise! I just. I just need somewhere. Please.”

Octavia’s reply was instantaneous. “I have a sofa at my place. It’s not comfortable, but you can stay as long as you need to.”

“Thank you,” Clarke breathed, pinching the bridge of her nose and praying this wasn’t an oncoming headache she was feeling.

“I’ve gotta go to work, but I’ll leave the key with my neighbour – just tell him who you are and he’ll give it to you.” Octavia said gently. “Clarke – are you alright? Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” Clarke said at once.

Octavia sighed. “Okay then. I’ll be back this evening, so you can make yourself at home at my place. There’s food in the pantry if you get hungry.”

“I don’t know how to thank you,” Clarke said quietly.

Octavia coughed a laugh. “Don’t worry about it. Just no wild parties while I’m gone.”

The next step of operation ‘escape the apartment,’ was to actually escape the apartment. This, it turned out, would require some muscle. Clarke managed to heave her cardboard box and paintings and clothes onto her shoulder and lug it out of the apartment, grunting with every step down the stairs. She could feel the hard edges of the box press into her shoulder and she gritted her teeth against the pain. The sooner she was down these stairs the sooner this would be over. Thankful for the fact that the morning sickness seemed to have passed for now, she managed to make it out to the street with no small amount of effort and struggle.

From there, it was easier to pull her box along the ground, letting the edge of it drag along behind her. Sure, she probably looked like a hobo on the move, but who cared – and really, all things considered, she _was_ a hobo on the move now. She sure didn’t have a home to speak of, and everything she was going to need was in this box.

While she was walking to the bus station, Clarke’s mind strayed to the lump of money that was sitting in her bank account. It had been there for a week or two now, since the transfer to Lexa’s account had been set up. Sometimes she went to an ATM just to see her account balance and stare at the numbers – she couldn’t remember the last time she’d had so much money, and it was surreal to see her account that full.

As she walked up to stand at the bus stop, the other people there taking a look at her and edging away nervously, she stopped and stared at her box. This was ridiculous. She had enough money to stay as many nights in a hotel as she liked, definitely until she got back on her feet, and yet here she was forcing her friend to take her in. Here she was, taking her mediocre paintings with her instead of the rest of her clothes and belongings. She could have left this shit behind, why didn’t she just leave it all and forget about the whole thing. She could have told Wells that she couldn’t do the exhibition, pulled out now and started all over.

Raven had told her that this was their opportunity to get away. Clarke assumed she meant getting away from Finn, and from the life they’d both been stuck in for so long. But maybe she should have been trying to get away from something else.

As the bus pulled up though, there was nothing else to be done but to lug her box of trash on board and heave it onto a seat, sitting down next to it, panting. There was no point having any kind of crisis about this now. She would get to Octavia’s and work from there. _Step by step process,_ she told herself firmly. _Step by step._ At least the morning sickness seemed to have faded for now – Clarke told herself to be thankful for the small mercies.

Clarke had been to Octavia’s only once before, a week or two ago. It had been to eat dinner and watch a movie the way they used to do in college, wrapped in a cocoon of blankets and talking the entire time. Sometimes about the movie, sometimes not. It had made her heart warm to be sitting next to her old roommate and watching a crappy movie, just like their college days.

The next difficulty in operation ‘get-to-Octavia’s’ turned out to be that Octavia lived in a seriously nice building, and the people sitting at the admin desk in the foyer stared at her in concern as she lugged her box of belongings inside. Clarke hobbled over to the elevator as she saw out of the corner of her eye one of the men behind the desk stand up and start moving over to her. She knew how she looked, she knew _exactly_ how suspicious she looked, a shabby homeless-looking woman dragging a box through a spiffy apartment building foyer. She put her head down and scurried into the elevator just as it closed though, and the admin guy watched the door close with an uneasy look. Clarke breathed a sigh of relief. That was a conversation she didn’t really need to have today.

The only other people in the elevator was a middle aged businessman who was too busy poking the touchscreen of his phone to notice her, and an old woman who stared at her before inching a little further away from her.

She was glad to get out of the elevator, and even gladder to get into the safety of Octavia’s apartment, having claimed the door key from her elderly but good-natured neighbour.

Inside, the place was typical of most up market apartments, with a few Octavia-esque flairs thrown in to counter the clinically white cleanness of the place. There were a multitude of papers and sticky notes and photos stuck to the fridge with magnets, and the kitchen was in a state of generally clean disarray. That was Octavia, really – harmless chaos.

Clarke dumped her box down on the kitchen bench and collapsed onto the couch, her arms aching. Squeezing her eyes closed, she focused on taking deep breaths, one after the other. She was here. She was safe.

And she was getting away.

 

* * * * *

 

Finn tried to call that night.

Clarke was sitting on the couch next to Octavia, eating Chinese takeout straight from the box and watching a rerun of Top Model. She had managed to get the roar of anxiety, panic and sheer betrayal down to a dull hum in the back of her mind. When she heard her phone start ringing, though, she felt a painful sting in her stomach again as she picked up the phone and saw Finn’s name marked on the incoming call.

Clarke swallowed hard, imagining his voice. What would be say? Would he be wondering where she was? Would his voice betray any of the panic he would be feeling if he returned to the apartment and found the Raven phone gone? She could see his face in her mind, and it sent shockwaves of hurt through her. Putting the phone down on the coffee table, she stared resolutely at the TV with a clenched jaw until it stopped ringing.

Octavia looked over at her, and Clarke could only imagine the look of sympathy on her friend’s face, because she was staring resolutely ahead. “Do you think he’s wondering where you are?” Octavia wondered.

Clarke shook her head, and she felt a muscle in her jaw jump, her teeth grinding together. “No. We can go for days without seeing each other normally.” She looked down at the phone. “I guess... I guess he knows I took the phone he used to call Raven. He’s panicking.” A thought occurred to her, and she reached into her pocket for the shiny smartphone that was the Raven phone. Clicking it to life, she went into the messages. Wincing at once at some of the messages she could see that were exchanged between Finn and Raven, she cleared the message bank and thumbed out a text to Raven.

_Me (8:12pm) : It’s me. Finn just tried to call, I guess he’ll try you next if he hasn’t already._

It was only a minute or two before the unfamiliar phone lit up.

_Raven (8:14pm) : Thanks for the heads up_

Clarke was about to put the phone back in her pocket, but she paused and typed out one more message.

_Me (8:14pm) : Are you alright?_

Clarke’s brow furrowed when she got a quick response.

_Raven (8:15pm) : You’re seriously asking me if I’m alright?_

Clarke thought that she was going to get a follow up message, but when nothing came, she leaned back in her seat and huffed.

_Me (8:17pm) : You didn’t answer my question raven_

Raven’s next response was short and sharp.

_Raven (8:18pm) : Just worry about yourself, princess. We’ll both get through this._

“Why do you still have that thing?”

Clarke glanced over at where Octavia was staring at the phone in her hand, brow furrowed in confusion. Her eyes found Clarke’s, and Clarke shrugged. “It has Raven’s number in it.”

“Isn’t talking to the woman your long-term boyfriend cheated on you with kind of making things worse?” Octavia asked incredulously.

Clarke looked down at the phone in her hand. “Finn was with Raven longer than he was with me. _I’m_ the one he cheated with.”

Octavia stared. “You’re remarkably _okay_ about all this.”

Her eyes narrowing, Clarke frowned. “Of course I’m not.” Something in her made her feel like this was a lie though.

“I didn’t mean anything by that. Look, I know it hurts, Clarke, and you’re gonna have to take time to work through that hurt,” Octavia said gently. “It’s weird and it sucks, and you probably feel like shit. But you’re stronger than you think, C.” The words were meant to be a comfort, Clarke knew, and they were words a good, loyal friend would say. But what was making her stomach turn was that she didn’t feel hurt, or like shit – she felt, hollow, empty. Not sad.

Octavia shrugged in defeat when Clarke didn’t respond and turned back to the TV, leaving Clarke to stare off into space. Of _course_ she wasn’t okay, she told herself uncertainly, the guy she’d been with for seven years had been lying to her that entire time.

_You knew he was a liar,_ a treacherous voice in the back of her mind told her. _You’re not surprised at all, not really._

Clarke stood up abruptly. “I’m gonna go take a shower,” she said, a little sharply.

Sharply enough to make Octavia look over in alarm. “Uh – okay?”

Walking down the hall, Clarke locked the bathroom door behind her and leaned her head against the mirror, closing her eyes. She was feeling suddenly sick, and the really frustrating thing was that she couldn’t tell whether it was out of anxiety because of Finn, or whether it was pregnancy nausea. She hadn’t told Octavia that she was pregnant. It hadn’t seemed important when they’d first started talking again, but now, she was feeling the weight of that particular secret hang heavy over her.

_Everything is so messed up,_ Clarke thought to herself, exhaustion washing over her like a wave. _When did my life get like this?_

She showered slowly, let the warm water run over her skin and cleanse it of the dirt and sweat of the day. When she got out, she went back to the couch and sat down next to Octavia, who eyed her with concern. She picked up her phone from the coffee table, and no sooner had the screen lit up to show her that she had three missed calls from Finn, and one from Lexa, then the battery died and the screen went black. She groaned. She could visualise the charger clearly where it lay – on the coffee table back at her apartment. _How the hell did I forget that?!_ She lamented. There was no way she could go back, not now she knew Finn was there. Seeing Finn was the one thing she would absolutely not be doing.

Instead, she leaned her head on Octavia’s shoulder and closed her eyes, letting the best friend she never thought she’d see again hold her while she cried.

 

* * * * *

 

She woke the next morning as Octavia was just about to leave for work. The dark haired girl was rushing around the kitchen, snatching up a packed lunch and a water bottle and throwing it into a bag, rushing to get out the door. “I gotta go, C,” was the first thing Clarke heard upon waking up, Octavia’s voice apologetic. “I’ll try and be back as early as I can, but I think it might be a late one tonight,” she paused as she was just about to run out the door. “Are you gonna be okay?”

Clarke offered a weak smile and pushed herself up onto her elbows where she lay in the sofa bed in the living room, with a good view of Octavia’s frantic dash to get ready. “Yeah, O, I’ll be fine.” She hauled herself out of the bed. “Thanks again – for everything. I’ll be out of your hair in no time. I promise.”

Octavia grinned and came over. “C’mon, Clarke, I haven’t seen you in, like, a decade. You’re allowed to be in my hair as much as you like.” There was a touch of gentleness, and maybe sympathy, in her voice and Clarke’s heart wrenched. Octavia waved as she left, closing the door behind her and leaving Clarke perched on the end of the sofa bed and alone.

It was hard to know what to do, apart from curl up in bed and cry. She didn’t feel like she’d cried enough yet, hadn’t felt like she’d gotten it all out of her system – then again, she also wasn’t feeling any morning sickness coming on, and maybe it would be best to make use of any time she didn’t spend hunched over a toilet bowl.

She got to her feet, groaning like an old person, and hobbled over to the kitchen, stiff from the uncomfortable bed. Still, it was a bed – she was lucky she had even that. Apart from the box on the floor by her sofa bed, she didn’t have much by way of belongings. _I’ll work everything out today,_ Clarke told herself firmly, pouring out a glass of water. _Today shit is getting sorted._

Shit would have to get sorted, however, after her shift at work. It was tempting to call in and say she couldn’t come for personal reasons, but for one thing her phone was dead so she’d be doing no such thing, and for another she hadn’t ever once turned down a shift, not since she came to this city. Not a single one. You never turn down a shift when you have the relationship to money that Clarke did.

It wasn’t a long shift either, so she just shrugged and told herself that she may as well do it, take the pay check and save the getting together of the shit until later. She got changed into her uniform (which, thankfully, she’d packed into the box,) closed up Octavia’s apartment and locked the door behind her.

The short shift turned out to be long. _Really_ long. Clarke’s boss asked her if she could stay another couple of hours to cover a missing worker over the lunch rush, and Clarke was quick to agree. What was going to be an extra hour or two, though, turned into four. Apparently there’d been a traffic accident that prevented a handful of employees from making it to work on time, and it meant Clarke wound up working the register for a lot longer than she’d thought she would be.

Just as she was walking out of the McDonalds, she paused, feeling something unpleasant swirling in her gut. She winced a little and looked down at her stomach, as if she was expecting it to give some kind of explanation as to why it thought now was the perfect time for this. Predictably, none came, and she had to stagger inside again and make a dive for the McDonalds toilets, making it just in time to gag over the toilet bowl. Thankfully, no one else was in the bathroom.

Leaning back against the cubicle wall, she huffed and looked down at her stomach. “We’re going to have to come to some kind of arrangement, you know,” she said quietly, knowing full well that the baby in her stomach was probably no bigger than a grape or something, but she still liked to imagine a little person in there, listening petulantly to every word she said. “I think you can pick more convenient times to do this. I don’t have the time right now, little critter” she breathed, and leaned her head back against the wall to wait out the waves of nausea. “I don’t think that’s too much to ask.”

The next stop once she was back on her feet was a service station, where she bought a new phone charger. She used her card to pay for it, and watched curiously as the cashier swiped her card. This was the first time she’d used the huge wad of money in her account. Strange, really, to be able to have her card swiped and not have to wonder whether it would be refused.

By the time she got back to Octavia’s, Octavia herself was home and the sky was starting to darken. The dark haired girl grunted in welcome as Clarke entered the apartment, huffing and red faced from having to run for the bus. “Hey C,”

“Hey,” Clarke said wearily, making her way over to the power socket in the kitchen, unplugging a toaster to plug her phone in. The thing was so dead it didn’t even blink to life when she plugged in the cord.

“How was your day?”

Clarke leaned against the bench. “Okay. How was yours?”

“Busy,” Octavia grumbled. “My boss was in a foul mood. She was real pissed off about something.” She paused, thinking for a moment. “Well, more pissed off than usual.”

Clarke hummed. “Bummer.”

“I was talking to Bellamy today, though.”

Clarke’s head snapped up. “Yeah?”

Octavia looked over the back of the couch at her, resting her chin on her hand. “Yeah. He said construction’s really gotten going at the gallery. You should definitely go down some time and see.”

“I’d like to,” Clarke said thoughtfully. “I’d like to lend a hand. I know Wells and Bellamy are helping out with the construction, I should really - ”

Her line of thought was interrupted with a series of beeps. She glanced down at the phone that had just blinked into life, the battery slowly returning to the land of the living. She picked it up and peered down at the screen, feeling her heart stop.

17 missed calls, 23 text messages.

Only three of the calls and four of the messages were from Finn. The rest, of course, were from Lexa.

“Shit,” Clarke hissed.

“What?” Octavia said curiously.

Pressing the phone to her ear, though, Clarke had already dialled Lexa’s number, waving a hand apologetically at Octavia, who rolled her eyes. It took barely two rings for Lexa to pick up.

“ _Clarke.”_ Clarke winced. She sounded furious.

“Hey – “ she began, not entirely sure what she was going to say.

“I thought we had an understanding,” Lexa said, and her voice was cold and angry. It cut Clarke deeper than she had thought possible, deeper than she could understand. “I thought you understood that we needed to keep in contact, that you couldn’t just drop off the radar. Do you have _any_ idea how worried I’ve been?”

Clarke’s brow furrowed. “I – “

“I haven’t heard from you for two days, Clarke. I went to your apartment to drop off some more vitamins, and you weren’t there.” Lexa went on, her voice sharp. “Your boyfriend was, though, and he told me that he hasn’t seen you in even longer – even better, he tells me to let him know if I manage to find you, because _he’s been looking for you too.”_

“I bet he is,” Clarke snarled.

“Where were you last night, Clarke.” It wasn’t a question.

“At a friend’s.” Clarke bit back.

“Were you safe?”

The earnestness of the question derailed Clarke. She frowned. “Yes, of course, I – “

“I’m coming to get you.” Lexa said. “Text me the address.”

Clarke pinched the bridge of her nose. “You don’t have to – “

“I’m in the car already, Clarke.” Lexa said, and now she just sounded tired. “Text me the address.”

Clarke breathed out slowly. “Fine.” Lexa had already hung up.

Once she’d texted the address, she resisted the urge to throw the phone across the room. Really though, she didn’t blame Lexa at all. How could she? She knew exactly how worried Lexa would had been, she could imagine how frantic not being able to get ahold of Clarke would make the dark haired woman, and how frightened she must have been when even Finn couldn’t tell her where she was. Clarke shook herself, though. She’d had more on her mind than the baby in her belly after all – she hadn’t even told Octavia about the baby or the surrogacy, or Lexa, or anything.

“What happened?!” Octavia said in alarm.

“Uh – “ Clarke said absently, still rubbing her forehead with her eyes closed and her teeth gritted. “I think I’ll be staying somewhere else now.”

“Who was that?” Octavia asked, nodding at the phone. “They sounded scary.”

“She is scary,” Clarke grumbled.

Octavia stared. “And – she’s coming here?”

Clarke sighed. “Yeah.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This Chapter: Hell hath no fury like Lexa scorned - except where Clarke is concerned. Octavia is a concerned friend, and Lexa and Clarke grow closer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N - So in this story's word document, at the beginning of this chapter, was a lil note I wrote just before starting the chapter. The note just reads: "((I’m writing this about half an hour after having watched 3.07. It hurts.))" So yeah, picture me as an emotional wreck, writing this chapter 2 months ago haha.
> 
> I hope everyone is having/has had a great day, and is looking after themselves. Enjoy the chapter, gang!

 

 

_CHAPTER NINE_

 

Lexa pulled up at the address Clarke had given her, her blood still boiling with fury.

She had been beside herself for the past two days, worried and scared and angry all at once, and that had all culminated into downright panic when she’d talked to Finn, who hadn’t even seen her for days. Who seemed very interested in finding her. The amount of voicemails Lexa had left Clarke, god. The texts too, starting out polite and inquiring, wondering where Clarke was and whether she’d be able to call and check in soon, and then ending up short and sharp and furious. She’d lost count of how many times she’d tried to contact Clarke over the last few hours.

Lexa stormed up the stairs rather than taking the elevator to the level Clarke was on, wanting to exorcise some tension. She’d been pacing her office all day at work, her mind anywhere but the cases she was working on and the paperwork she was meant to be getting done. What if Clarke was hurt? What if she needed help?

She reached the right apartment and rapped a knuckle on the door sharply, gritting her teeth through the anger that was still pulsing through her.

It was only a moment before the door opened and a sheepish looking Clarke faced her. “Hello.”

Lexa strolled past and into the apartment, turning on Clarke as the blonde girl closed the door. “ _Hello?”_ She snarled. “ _Hello_ is what I get after having been worried sick about you for days?”

There was a scraping noise behind her and she whirled around, still scowling. She started when she took in a familiar sight, blinking in surprise over by a loungue. “M – Ms. Blake,” she said by way of acknowledgement, her eyes widening momentarily in shock.

Octavia Blake, one of the attorneys at her firm, stared back at her, wide eyed and a little frightened. “Uh – M – Ms. Woods.” She stammered, looking quite as though she’d like to run and hide. Octavia had been one of the few interns who Lexa had requested to stick around after her internship finished – she was a good lawyer, and at the time Lexa had been pleased that she’d taken a job at the firm. Now though, she couldn’t pretend she was happy to see Octavia, not when there was too much tension and anger coursing through her.

Clarke frowned. “How do you two - ?”

“This is my boss,” Octavia said grimly.

Clarke’s eyebrows rose. “Seriously?”

“It’s not important,” Lexa snapped. “Get your things.”

Clarke stared her down. “Just hold on, Lexa.”

Lexa squeezed her eyes shut and pinched the bridge of her nose. There’d been a headache there since this morning. “Clarke. Please.”

Clarke huffed, still staring at Lexa with something like desperation. She glanced over at Octavia for a moment, who was still surveying Lexa with wide eyed disbelief. When she finally met Lexa’s gaze again, there was something in her face, some kind of frustration or pain that Lexa couldn’t quite pin down. Because then that blue-eyed gaze had flicked away, down to the ground where her eyes hardened again, and her brow furrowed. “Fine.” She bit out.

Lexa watched her closely as she moved around the room for a moment, picking up a few stray pieces of clothing, and, strangely, two phones from where they rested on the coffee table. When Clarke dropped them into a large cardboard moving box, the kind that littered her apartment, Lexa moved forward to pick up the box. Clarke started to protest, but Lexa cut her off with a stony look and a muscle jumping in her jaw.

Lexa started to walk back towards the door, hauling the box onto her shoulder. It was heavy, far too heavy for it to be just clothes in there. “I’m parked out the front,” Lexa said shortly.

Clarke paused for a moment, going over to Octavia to murmer to her for a few moments. Lexa heard Octavia ask “Are you gonna be okay?” but could not hear Clarke’s answer.

Clarke followed Lexa into the elevator in silence, staring straight forward when Lexa tried to make eye contact. It only steeled something inside Lexa, something that had been tortured for the past two days, and something that was only partly to do with the baby Clarke was carrying.

Clarke even stayed silent as they got into Lexa’s car and drove out into the streets. She closed her eyes, weariness in her every feature, and leaned her forehead against the window. Lexa wondered if she was asleep, but every now and then, Lexa would look over and Clarke would be gazing out through the glass at the neon lights of the city at night, the bright vivid reds and blues washing over the angles of her face and throwing it into sharp relief. _She’s beautiful like this,_ Lexa thought privately, which was a nice change from wondering whether Clarke was dead in a ditch somewhere. She wondered what she would have done if she hadn’t been able to get a hold of Clarke. Lexa hadn’t just been worried – she had been a _wreck._ She’d gotten nothing done at work, instead spending the time snapping and growling at people and blustering her way through meetings and interviews with clients, not really paying much attention to anything.

And then Clarke had called, and the relief in her had been almost frightening. Clarke had terrified her. Really though, Clarke never stopped terrifying Lexa. Everything about her was unexpected and spontaneous and nothing at all like anything Lexa was used to.

When they finally pulled up at Lexa’s apartment building, Clarke still hadn’t so much as looked at Lexa. That elevator ride was just as awkward and tense as the one in Octavia’s building, except this time Lexa openly stared at the other woman, noticing the tiredness in her eyes and how pale she was looking. It sent shockwaves of more worry through Lexa.

Clarke stood aside while Lexa unlocked the door to the apartment, Clarke’s box still in one arm. When the door swung open, Lexa stood aside to let Clarke through, and there was a brief moment when their eyes met, and Lexa’s stomach clenched when the look she received was hostile and cold.

Clarke moved through the apartment as she always had, as though it was all some kind of foreign world. Lexa put the box down on the kitchen bench and cleared her throat. The silence had to end at some time, and even now she could feel the anger draining out of her, replaced only with sharp relief, intoxicating relief. “Can I ask,” She said quietly, “why.” It wasn’t a question. It was a plea.

Clarke stared at her, and Lexa concentrated on taking a kind of mental snapshot of Clarke standing like a lost thing in the middle of her apartment, looking small and tired and sad. She took a mental snapshot and told herself to remember what seeing Clarke like this felt like, because she never wanted to feel it again. She would do anything to prevent Clarke from looking so lost. Clarke opened her mouth and closed it again. Closing her eyes, her head dropped a little. “I – Finn cheated on me.”

The silence rung as loudly, painfully. Lexa stared back and for what felt like eons they were both trapped in some kind of spell, where neither could move nor speak, only stare. It was a curious feeling, as though this apartment was its own little world, cut off from the rest of the world, and they were the only two people living here. Strange, considering Lexa had never really considered this place anything other than a place to sleep – something Clarke had said a million years came back to her suddenly. _You should always do private things in private places._ Lexa almost wanted to ask Clarke now what she’d meant by that.

Finally, though, Clarke shook her head, that desperate look back in her eyes. “You’ve got nothing to say?”

Lexa shrugged. “I don’t know what I can say.”

Clarke shook her head, broken. “Neither do I.”

Lexa cleared her throat, still maintaining that hypnotic eye contact that had so spellbound them both. “You understand how it looked, don’t you? To me?”

A muscle jumped in Clarke’s jaw, and she gritted her teeth. “You thought I was running away again.”

“Was I wrong?”

“Yes,” Clarke said sharply. “I was getting away from Finn. I had no intention of scaring you, of worrying you or anything like that. I just needed to get away and have time to think.”

Lexa blinked. “You could have called me straight away. I would have brought you here. I thought we agreed that you need to learn how to communicate.”

Clarke gritted her teeth again, her eyes turning hard. “My phone died and I didn’t have a charger. Maybe _you_ need to learn to trust me.”

“Well, maybe you need to learn how to ask for help,” Lexa said sharply, maybe a little too sharply and more argumentatively than she’d intended.

Clarke’s eyes flashed. “What do you want me to say, Lexa?!” She said, her voice rising to a growling snarl. “That I’m sorry? Maybe you don’t understand _anything_ about me.” Her voice echoed around the kitchen.

“Maybe I don’t,” Lexa said sharply, hating herself already for rising to the fight – but then again, she’d never backed down from a fight. “But I do know that you would rather sleep in a gutter than call me and ask for help out of some misplaced pride that having a chip on your shoulder and a decade of rough living has given you.”

“ _Fuck_ you,” Clarke growled, moving closer as her eyes narrowed, burning with fury. “Fuck you, I’ve only survived this long because of the way I am. Pride and all. I didn’t need anyone that way, I didn’t rely on anyone.”

“Even Finn?”

Clarke paused, and Lexa winced, sure she was about to get screamed at and this would turn into some kind of fight that would end with Lexa wrestling a pregnant women. Thankfully though, something else had crossed Clarke’s eyes. Her face was suddenly filled with horror. “ _Shit,”_ she ground out, before turning and making a sprint down the hall.

Lexa, bewildered, watched her go. “Clarke - ?” She called, moving forward to follow Clarke down the hall. She glanced in open rooms for a moment, brow furrowed in confusion, before turning her head towards sounds of movement emanating from the bathroom. She pushed her way inside to see Clarke on her knees, hunched over the toilet bowl. “ _Clarke,”_ Lexa breathed, dropping to the ground to put a hand on Clarke’s back. ‘I – is this – “

“Fucking morning sickness,” Clarke groaned, her eyes squeezed closed.

“When did – ?”

“Two days ago. Just before I found out about Finn.” Clarke rubbed a hand down her forehead, wincing and retching over the bowl again. Lexa realised her hand was still on her back and took it away hurriedly, waiting for Clarke to ride out the last of the nausea. Finally, Clarke leaned back, tilting her head back to breathe, eyes still closed. “I took the vitamins every day. The ones you gave me. Even at Octavia’s.” She opened her eyes and looked over at Lexa, honesty plain in her face. “You can think whatever you like about me, but don’t think for a moment that I’d do anything that would harm your baby. You _have_ to believe me when I say that, Lexa. That’s what you care about, right?” There was no malice in the words, no bitterness, just stating simple fact.

Lexa stared back at her, swallowing hard. “I know you wouldn’t.” She said quietly. After a few moments, she stood, pulling Clarke up with her. She stayed holding onto Clarke’s arm for longer than she should, perhaps, but Clarke was still staring at the ground, her eyes glazed and unfocused. Lexa squeezed her arm gently. “Come on. I’ll make you some food.”

Clarke looked up at her with tired surprise as they walked slowly back out into the hallway. “I thought you said you couldn’t cook.” Clarke said in a low, defeated voice.

“I can’t,” Lexa replied gently. “What I make you will be only the finest, gourmet two minute noodles.”

Lexa glanced over to see Clarke smile a little and, even if it was a sad smile, it made a glimmer of warmth shine on Lexa’s heart.

Clarke sat down at the bench and put her head in her hands, rubbing her temples in silence. Lexa crossed over to the pantry to pull out a cup of dried noodles. Her eyes were on Clarke the entire time as she filled it with water and put it into the microwave. Clarke was still and quiet, and it made Lexa innately uneasy to watch. “I’m sorry about what I said.” Lexa said stiffly, if nothing else to break the silence. “About... about you relying on Finn. I didn’t mean to intrude on – “

“You know the worst part?” Clarke said suddenly, looking up to meet Lexa’s gaze.

Lexa frowned, shaking her head.

“He told Raven that he was going on business trips whenever he went away to stay with me.” Clarke said, the anger gone from her voice, leaving only bitterness and resignation. “He didn’t even bother lying to me, he just left me and knew I wouldn’t ask any questions when he didn’t come back for days on end. He _knew_ he could lie to me and it would be easy.”

Lexa’s brow furrowed, still staring at Clarke. “Raven?”

“The other woman. Well,” Clarke chuckled darkly. “ _I’m_ the other woman, really. He and Raven were high school sweethearts. I was his thing on the side.”

Lexa felt nauseous herself somehow, seeing Clarke hurting in this way. She felt a surge of hatred for Finn, a pathetic, worthless man who would throw away a relationship with someone like Clarke because he was too much of a child to understand what he had. How _dare_ he hurt Clarke like this? Lexa found herself sincerely glad she would never have to see him again. “Clarke – “

“I didn’t love him.”

Both of them seemed to freeze for what felt like an eternity, their eyes still locked together in what felt like a moment of complete honesty and utter clarity. The kitchen bench stretched between them, but it felt like no distance at all. Clarke stared at her unblinkingly, as though she didn’t want to break whatever spell this was, this curse of honesty and realisation that had somehow gripped them. Lexa swallowed hard.

There were tears glistening behind Clarke’s eyes, but where most people looked vulnerable when they cried, Clarke looked defiant, as if daring anyone to think her weak. Clarke was so unflappably strong it was almost bizarre to see her like this. “I lived with him for seven years and I don’t think I loved him.” She said, and her voice didn’t shake. “He knew that, he knew he didn’t need to lie to me because he didn’t care if I found out. And he was right. I _don’t_ care. I’m a fucking idiot.”

Lexa shook her head. “No you aren’t.”

“I stayed with him because he was safe.” Clarke said, a few tears betraying her and falling down her cheeks. “I stayed him because he was the only thing that stuck around, and he was the only thing I knew. We were just a pair of fucked up drifters, floating from one place to another and sticking together because it was convenient, and we were there, and it was easy to pretend you have your shit together when you’re a fuck-up with someone else. I didn’t care about him any more than he cared about me. How fucked up is that?”

Lexa just shook her head, because words didn’t seem to be able to do her any good – it was a strange feeling, having been always the kind of person to have something to say. She’d made a career out of being able to respond to every situation, have something smart to say for every problem to be solved. Matters of the heart, she was starting to learn, didn’t work the same way as legal conundrums, which could be sorted with a bit of research and some clever wording. This was raw and human and emotional, and no amount of legal jargon would alleviate the tug in her heart when she saw Clarke lean forward on the bench, her head in her hands, as her shoulders shook with silent sobs.

Lexa moved forward and, hesitating a moment, put her hand on the back of Clarke’s neck, squeezing gently. She had no idea what to say, what to do to make Clarke feel better, so she just stayed there, lifting her other hand to rub Clarke’s back slowly.

They stayed that way for a few minutes, until Clarke’s sobs had faded and she’d sat up a bit, Lexa’s hands falling away. Clarke’s eyes stared unseeing into the bench in front of her, and Lexa swallowed hard. “Clarke,” she said gently, her voice quiet. “I... I think...” she swallowed again, cursing her own cowardice. “I would like it if you stayed with me.” Clarke glanced up at her, and Lexa shifted, looking away. “You don’t have to if you’d prefer to stay with your friend, I would understand, I would never force you to stay, I just...” She let out a small sigh. “The offer is there. If you would like it.”

Clarke met her gaze, blue eyes that were somehow bright even through tears. “I...” she said, and for a moment Lexa thought she was going to decline. “I’d like that. Thankyou.”

Lexa paused for a moment to stare, surprised. “Alright.”

Clarke almost smiled. “Alright.” She pulled herself down from her chair slowly and Lexa backed off a little, as if she didn’t want to get too close. “I think I’m going to go to bed.”

“You don’t want any food?” Lexa said, hearing the concern in her own voice.

“I’m not hungry,” Clarke said, her voice raspy and tired.

“Okay,” Lexa said uneasily, watching Clarke haul her box of belongings into her arms and make her slow way towards the hall. “There’s a spare bedroom in the third door on your right. The bathroom’s at the end of the hall, if you want to take a shower.”

“Thanks,” Clarke said, turning back for a moment to offer Lexa a small smile. She paused, looking away. “I’m sorry I scared you, Lex. I really am.”

Lexa swallowed hard. “I know. I’m sorry too.”

She waited until she heard the door to the spare room close quietly before going over to the microwave and taking out the noodles, settling on the bench to eat them herself, eyes staring glazed against a wall. She hadn’t eaten much over the past couple of days, that ill worried feeling in her stomach preventing her from feeling hungry.

The frightened little feeling fermenting in her now had nothing to do with concern for Clarke, but still had _everything_ to do with the blonde girl in her spare room. Clarke had said that Lexa only cared about the baby, which should be true. Why, then, did Lexa keep feeling like that was no longer true? Why did seeing Clarke hurt and upset cut her as deeply as being sad herself did?

_You know why,_ a voice in her mind said honestly. And she did know why. She’d told herself that she would see Clarke only in a professional sense, only through the eyes of someone contracting another person for a service, for nothing more. And yet, with knowing only meagre scraps of information about Clarke, only the things Clarke had let herself share, Lexa felt like there was something more smouldering just beneath the surface. It was in the way Lexa, when she wasn’t policing her own thoughts, would note how beautiful Clarke looked when she was laughing, how perfect the sound of her voice was.

Lexa put her cup of noodles down on the bench and pinched the bridge of her nose. She wasn’t meant to be feeling these things – Clarke was her surrogate for god’s sake, the whole thing was all kinds of messed up. Yet here she was, pining like a teenager.

Throwing out the cup of noodles, and turning out the kitchen lights, she made her way to her own room, pausing in the hallway when she didn’t hear anything from the spare bedroom. She was at once overwhelmed with a tiredness she hadn’t acknowledged until now.

Clarke was safe, though, and the baby was safe, and the relief Lexa felt was strong enough to put her into an exhausted sleep moments after her head hit the pillow in her bed.

 

* * * * *

 

Clarke was still asleep when Lexa arose for work the next morning. She pondered what to do, having not really had people stay over the night in her apartment much before. Aside from her family, it _never_ happened. At least, not since Costia, which wasn’t something Lexa was game to think about for the time being. She put the tin of instant coffee on the bench along with a mug and a note where to find cereal and other food around the kitchen. And with that, she got dressed, grabbed up her bag, and left.

The drive to work, somehow, was more relaxing than it had been for days. The traffic didn’t anger her, nor did the always-full car park around her work. She was more chilled out and content than she had been in a long, long time.

She debated calling her apartment when she sat down at her desk, but figured she should probably let Clarke get some sleep. She needed it, after all - she was sleeping for two. With a compromise that she would call Clarke during her break, she settled into the morning’s work with a new kind of ease that had been absent over the past few days.

Her work didn’t progress far, however, because a knock on her door brought her out of her state of concentration. She frowned at the clock. Her next meeting wasn’t until after lunch. “Come in,” she called.

The door opened, and Octavia Blake’s head peeked around the door. “Uh – hi Ms. Woods. Do you have a second?”

Lexa thought back to the last conversation she and Octavia had shared – Lexa in a state of rage, standing on the threshold of Octavia’s apartment, trying to what looked like kidnap her blonde friend. Before that, Octavia had probably been one of the people Lexa had snapped at in the office when she’d been worried and agitated. It was bizarre how much this particular relationship had shifted. Clarke seemed to have the weird power of doing this sort of thing – turning Lexa’s status quo upside down and shaking it out. “Ms. Blake,” Lexa said, in what she hoped was a pleasant voice. “What can I do for you?”

“Um,” Octavia said, clearly uncomfortable. “I... uh, it’s not about work, strictly speaking. It’s about Clarke.”

Lexa was unsurprised. “Close the door. Sit.” Octavia did as she was told, pulling the office door closed and perching on the edge of the seat that faced Lexa’s desk, looking uneasy. “What about Clarke?”

Octavia raised an eyebrow, as if she couldn’t quite believe she was being asked this question. “Is she alright? One minute she’s a wreck sleeping on my couch, and then you turn up and whisk her away. I felt guilty all night, like I shouldn’t have let her go with you.”

Lexa also quirked an eyebrow. She was reminded why she’d hired Octavia as an intern years ago. Once the nerves were gone, this girl was all fire. “You don’t trust me?”

“What would you have done if you were me? It’s not about trusting you, it’s about looking out for my friend.” Octavia shot back, eyebrow quirking in a challenge. When Lexa didn’t respond, Octavia sighed, leaning back in her chair. “I only reconnected with Clarke recently. We were best friends in college, sure, and I’d definitely call her my friend now, but I don’t... I don’t pretend to know what’s best for her. But you better believe I care about her.” she glanced up at Lexa. “Something about all this seems off. How do you even know Clarke?”

Lexa hesitated. Clearly, Clarke hadn’t told Octavia that she was a surrogate. Had she even told Octavia that she was pregnant? “Clarke is my friend too,” Lexa said, a little evasively.

Octavia was a lawyer, and a good one. She knew when she wasn’t getting the whole truth. “How long have you known her?”

Lexa shrugged. “Hard to say. A little while.” She switched up tactics, going on the offensive. “Is there a reason I’m getting this grilling?”

Octavia frowned. “I’m just worried about her is all. Just tell me she’s alright, and that she’s not back with that Finn guy.”

“She’s alright,” Lexa said, her face blank. “She’s safe. Not with Finn.”

“Okay,” Octavia said, a note of discontent still shining in her eyes. “Just as long as she stays that way.” There was too much suspicion in her voice for Lexa to let it slide.

“I think you’ve forgotten that I _am_ your boss Ms. Blake.” A glimmer of fear crossed Octavia’s eyes. “I’ve spoken to you about this because I know you’re a concerned friend and Clarke could use some of those in her life, but don’t for one second think I would do anything that would hurt her.” She looked down, rifling through some papers on her desk. “I think you should see yourself out. And don’t forget, I want the files for the Cauldman-Brown Case in my inbox by the end of the day.”

Octavia looked sour for a moment as she got up. “No problem,” she said grudgingly, making her way over to the door.

Lexa watched her go, frowning. Why wouldn’t Clarke have told her best friend anything about the surrogacy deal? Was she keeping it a secret from everyone?

She called Clarke the moment her lunch break rolled around. It only rung for a few moments before there was a click at the other end as the call was picked up. “Um, hi, Clarke speaking, but I don’t actually live here so I probably can’t help you and – “

“Clarke,” Lexa said, already feeling a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “It’s me.”

“Oh,” Clarke said, sounding relieved. “Thank god.”

“What’s wrong, has anyone else called?” Lexa asked, frowning.

“Are you kidding me?” Clarke scoffed, huffing. “Two calls in the last hour, one from some Roan guy who wanted to talk ‘business opportunities’ with you, another from your sister.”

Lexa felt her heart stop. “Indra?”

“No, Anya.”

Her heart started again, but she was still frozen to the spot in horror. “What did she say? What did you say? Did – “

“Calm down, Lex, she just asked if you were there and I said no.”

“Did she ask who you were?”

“She thought I was your assistant.” Clarke said, her voice sour. “She called me ‘sweetie’...”

Lexa actually laughed, and only partially with relief. “Maybe I _should_ hire you as my assistant.”

“I’d be the best damn assistant you ever had,” Clarke shot back, just cheekily enough to make Lexa’s mind buzz and her heart warm with something she told herself was _definitely_ not affection. “But alas, I already have gainful employment. Speaking of which,” Clarke said suddenly. “I have a dinner shift tonight.”

Lexa frowned. “Are you well enough? Have you been sick this morning?”

“Oh yeah, the urge to run to the bathroom and retch over the toilet bowl is a hell of a wake-up call.” Clarke said drily. “But I’m fine now.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure,” Clarke said clearly, amused.

“Have you eaten? What are you doing for dinner?”

“Yeah, I had breakfast, worrywart. And I’ll just pick some food up for dinner from work.”

“Don’t do that,” Lexa said suddenly. “I’ll get some food in. You can eat with me.” She could have kicked herself for sounding so awkward. “I – uh...” she stammered. “I think it would be best for the baby if you had food other than the grease-soaked trash at your work.”

Clarke hummed thoughtfully. “I’ll have you know that I prepare only the finest grease-soaked trash at work – but I get your point. I’ll be home around nine, can you wait for dinner that long?”

“I can wait,” Lexa said, already smiling.

For dinner with Clarke, Lexa would wait all night.

 

* * * * *

 

Lexa almost did have to wait all night. Clarke was nowhere to be found at nine, so Lexa texted her a couple of times. Once Clarke was able to get to her phone, she texted back that she was running over time, and that she might be a bit late. Lexa drove out to the takeout restaurant and parked out the front to wait, and by the time Clarke was done work, it was almost quarter to ten. Lexa might have been worried that Clarke would be annoyed that she’d come to pick her up, but she was relieved to see the blonde girl’s face light up upon seeing Lexa’s car.

They drove back to the apartment with Clarke giving a detailed run down of the night’s most difficult customers, Lexa glancing at her exhausted, grease splattered passenger every now and then. By the time they got back, both women’s stomachs were audibly growling. “Tell me you have food in here,” Clarke groaned as they walked into the kitchen, Lexa putting her bag up on the bench.

Lexa gestured up at a plastic bag on the kitchen counter. “Rest assured, you’ll be fed, Clarke.”

“What’s in there?” Clarke asked eagerly, moving over to the counter.

“If you let me serve it up, you’ll find out,” Lexa said, opening the bag and pulling out a pair of plates. Clarke’s eyes widened when Lexa plucked a Styrofoam container from the bag and opening it to reveal a slab of meat with creamy looking sauce drizzled on top of it, surrounded by salad and chips.

“Is that – “

“Steak from the Grounder?” Lexa said, smiling at the ravenous look on Clarke’s face as she stared at the food. “Yeah.”

“I had no idea the Grounder did takeout,” Clarke said, watching as Lexa put the food on the plate.

“They don’t,” Lexa hummed. “But they make exceptions for my family. I thought you would appreciate some of this. You seemed to like it last time.”

Clarke took the plate from her when both plates of steak were served up, still staring at the food. They walked over to the couch to sit down, Clarke settling cross legged with her plate in her lap, looking as happy as a recently fed cat. Lexa watched her start to eat, smiling at every little noise of appreciation the blonde made. “How are you feeling?”

Clarke glanced up. “Vomit-wise?”

“Yeah,” Lexa shrugged, “also, y’know. Emotions-wise.”

One of Clarke’s eyebrows quirked questioningly and she actually laughed a little. Lexa looked back at her food, cheeks reddening. “You don’t have to worry about me,” Clarke said easily. “The baby’s gonna be fine.” She still thought that Lexa only cared about the baby. Which, really, was true. Kind of true. True-ish. Somewhat true. Not really. “So what are you hoping for?”

Lexa paused, food halfway to her mouth. “What?”

“The baby,” Clarke said. “You hoping for a boy or a girl?”

“Boy,” Lexa said at once, not entirely knowing where this came from. Somewhere along the line, when she’d been picturing her life with this new child, for some reason she’d envisioned the baby being a boy.

“Aren’t you supposed to say something sappy like ‘anything as long as it’s healthy?’” Clarke mused with a playful smile.

“Of course it’s going to be healthy,” Lexa shrugged. “Why not consider whether it’s a boy or a girl?”

“It might not be either, you know,” Clarke teased, still shovelling food into her mouth. With anyone else, lack of table manners might be irritating – why was it so endearing in Clarke?

“It might not,” Lexa agreed, straightening in her chair. She smiled a little to herself, imagining this hypothetical little person, pattering around the apartment. Sure, she pictured the little one as a boy in these fleeting little fantasies, but it’s not like it would matter if it weren’t. The small smile fell away from her face slowly as she realised that another person had started to crop up in these daydreams.

Lexa didn’t like making a habit of thinking about what would happen to Clarke once the baby had been born – the contract had been clear, the surrogate would have no contact with the child upon turning it over to the mother. But, Lexa recalled, she’d written that with the surrogate stories she’d heard in mind, the ones where the surrogates fell in love with the babies and sued for custody. And, given the way the law leant in those situations, things might get tricky for her. She’d wanted to guard against every possibility, and provide some kind of safety net in the form of a strong contract to ward off any legal suits. But, the longer she spent with Clarke, the more silly she felt that she’d even included that clause.

And, more importantly, the more silly she felt that Clarke had somehow infiltrated the daydreams she had about her future. Why? What did she even want from Clarke, apart from fulfilling her role as a surrogate? Clarke probably wouldn’t even want anything to do with Lexa once this baby was born, that’s the way any normal surrogate would act.

Lexa must have had some kind of thoughtful look on her face, because when she glanced at Clarke again, the blonde was staring at her with soft eyes and a small smile. Lexa’s heart fluttered. “Where did you go just now?” Clarke wondered, chuckling. “You looked a million miles away.”

Lexa blinked. “Nowhere. I’m here.” She leaned forward to put her empty plate onto the coffee table. “Clarke?”

Clarke paused. “Yeah?”

“What are you going to do after the baby is born?” Lexa knew there was a huge chance that this question bordered on the region of ‘too personal’ for Clarke to answer, and fully expected the blonde to recede and throw up a wall.

Clarke stared at her for a moment, as though thinking hard, and Lexa felt a glimmer of something like hope, or anticipation. “You know,” Clarke said in a low voice. “I have no idea.”

Clarke smiled warmly over at her, and Lexa smiled back.

The blonde stood slowly, picking up both her own and Lexa’s plates. Lexa watched as she walked soundlessly over to the kitchen. Clarke washed off the empty plates and started to load the dishwasher in silence. It was a comfortable, almost domestic silence, and Lexa found that she didn’t quite mind it. During evenings, she usually worked, with the TV set on mute on some news channel for her to ignore. But now, staring over as Clarke clicked the dishwasher and poked the buttons to get it started, Lexa realised this was a different, better silent. This was a silence she didn’t want to talk over.

The dishwasher whirred into life and Clarke wiped her hands on the front of her jeans, wandering back out of the kitchen area and shooting Lexa a small smile. “I think I’ll turn in. Kinda tired,” she said quietly.

“Okay,” Lexa said.

Clarke didn’t move, still smiling over at Lexa. Her eyes softened. “Y’know, I don’t think I thanked you. Not properly.” She shrugged. “I really am grateful. For everything. I mean it.”

Lexa blinked over at her. “You’re very welcome, Clarke. I mean that too.”

Clarke huffed a short laugh and began to walk over to the hallway. A hand on the wall she paused, turning back to Lexa with a playful smile on her face. “Hey Lexa?”

“Yeah?”

“Why do you want this baby?”

Lexa offered a smile in response. “Why did you become a surrogate?”

Clarke laughed softly and disappeared down the hallway. “Night, Lex.”

Lexa ducked her head, smiling. “Sleep well, Clarke.”

 

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This Chapter: Clarke has a few weeks to adjust to her new life (and her new roommate,) before disaster strikes

 

 

**PART TWO**

 

 

_CHAPTER TEN_

It was weird, Clarke decided, at first. Living in a place with an ensuite off her bedroom, and a lounge room that wasn’t covered floor to ceiling with cardboard moving boxes. It was weird, of course waking up to nausea every morning and being able to stumble into a bathroom that was so clean and neat and white that it shone.

But five weeks into living in Lexa’s apartment, a comfortable rhythm had started to form and the weirdness dissipated. Lexa would wake up first, and leave for work. Clarke would wake up a little later if she had a later shift at work. If she wasn’t working, she’d go down to the warehouse and take a look around the construction site, maybe hang around with Bellamy and Wells for a bit. She even helped out a bit, manning the wheelbarrow and carrying loads of tiles or ground up cement. They were in the process of clearing the inside of the warehouse for the actual rejuvenation of the place to start.

“Doesn’t she look awesome?” Wells enthused when Clarke had been there last. The debris that had settled on the roof over many years of neglect had been cleared, and the full force of the skylights had been revealed, allowing great beams of light to stream down onto the floor below. Clarke could picture their paintings hanging there, lit by the sun in the light of day.

“Sure does,” Clarke had smiled, looking around. “I can’t wait to see it finished.”

“Oh! By the way,” Wells said, still smiling over at the warehouse lovingly. “You know your cut of the construction and stuff? We’re gonna need the first part of it some time this week. That cool?”

Clarke revelled in the fact that she could smile with ease and no stress. “No problem,” she said, maybe with more delight and confidence than was required. The money had been sitting in her bank account since Lexa had paid it to her, and Clarke had been waiting for her turn to chip in. “I’ll transfer it this week.”

“Awesome,” Wells said.

 

Clarke had left that particular meeting feeling elated. That money had been sitting idle for months now. She’d wanted to pay it straight away, but Wells had told her to wait, that they were still getting things sorted out in terms of the finances. So she’d been waiting, occasionally checking her bank balance just to get a thrill. She pretended she was the kind of person who always had this kind of money in her account, and that it was no surprise, just for fun. Regardless, every time she saw the number printed out on an ATM screen, her heart would skip a beat. Not for much longer, though – it was finally time to make her contribution.

She’d stopped helping out on the construction site not long ago. If she ever let Lexa find out that she’d been on a construction site, working while pregnant, the poor woman would have lost her mind. Clarke often thought Lexa was far too tightly wound, that maybe she might _benefit_ from losing her mind once in a while. She already enjoyed the little panicked looks Lexa would shoot her whenever Clarke had disrupted some kind of everyday schedule that Lexa had maintained.

At first Clarke had tried to avoid disturbing Lexa in any way during her stay – Lexa had been kind enough to let her sleep in her lavish guest bedroom, and that warranted Clarke behaving like a model guest. This had lasted a week and a half.

How could Clarke resist turning off the TV of a morning and instead turning on the classical music station on the radio to let the sounds of strings and flutes echo through the apartment and calm her every muscle, when Lexa would stare at her as if this was the most shocking thing she’d ever seen. It soon became clear that Lexa, though force of habit for many, _many_ years, had established a very rigid schedule. Disrupting that schedule and making the dark haired woman’s eyes light up with surprise was one of the pleasures of the day, Clarke found. Nothing major, or inconvenient, just little things. Things like making her dinner when Lexa worked late and Clarke was off work. Things like forcing them both to eat breakfast outside on the balcony, and coaxing Lexa to talk about her work.

Often, Clarke wondered whether she’d get that adorable look of confusion and surprise if she ever told Lexa about her art. But no, her paintings were still safely stored in the cardboard box she’d arrived with, tucked underneath her bed.

There was more to Clarke’s day than just working and surprising her host with innane things. She was twelve weeks pregnant, nearing her first trimester according to the pregnancy books Lexa had strategically placed in the guest room. She had to pee on a damn near hourly basis, and while the morning sickness had alleviated somewhat, she could feel a new kind of pressure in her stomach – her weight, to her dismay, had ballooned. Nothing too noticeable yet, but it was certainly noticeable to herself, staring into the bathroom mirror at herself clad only in underwear on a Monday morning with a deep set frown.

There had only been three people who knew about the baby. Her, Lexa and Finn. Well, four, if you count the OBGYN that they’d been seeing once a month on Lexa’s insistence. The doctor really only showed them little wriggling shapes on the monitor when he performed an ultrasound, telling them that was the baby, but Clarke wasn’t so sure. Lexa looked at the dark blobs with glazed eyes, as though she were imagining an actual baby running around the apartment. Clarke, no matter how hard she tried, had struggled to _connect_ the thing in her stomach with any kind of living creature. Sure, at last month’s appointment the little thing _almost_ looked like it could be human on the ultrasound, but it didn’t trigger any kind of strong emotional feeling in her. It was probably better that way, she figured, since the baby wasn’t even hers to begin with. Despite this, she talked to the baby, every now and then. She’d look down and grumble something at the “damn little critter” whenever it’d make her run to the toilet to either pee or puke again. It was a fixture, just part of the furniture of her life.

Staring at her stomach in the mirror, Clarke poked it with a finger. Oh yes, she’d definitely put on weight. She frowned. That meant there was only a limited amount of time she had to actually tell people. Six months ago, she hadn’t had anyone to tell.

Now though? She had Octavia, who she had lunch with a couple of times a week, and Bellamy and Wells and, she supposed, Murphy too.

“Clarke!” A voice called from outside the door of the bathroom. “Are you going to be done any time soon?”

“I didn’t realise there was a queue,” Clarke called back, pulling her shirt on and rubbing her hair dry from the shower she’d just taken.

“We’re leaving in ten minutes,”

Clarke frowned, throwing the door open as she buttoned her shirt up. She wondered how much longer this shirt would fit. Eh, that was a problem for future Clarke. “I thought the appointment was in the afternoon?”

“The doctor called,” Lexa said, looking away as redness stained her cheeks. “He – uh – he bumped us forward. Something about a family matter.” She glanced back at Clarke, most definitely blushing now. “Um – are you going to put pants on?”

Clarke looked down at her own bare legs. “No, I was trying out a new look. Not working?” She said thoughtfully, sarcasm light. She turned a teasing grin up at the dark haired woman.

“The Obstetrician’s office is not the place for high fashion, Clarke.” Lexa quipped, deadpan. “Please wear pants.”

“If you insist.” Clarke watched Lexa disappear down the hall, shaking her head and a small smile on her face. Five weeks, apparently, was all it took to become this comfortable with a new roommate. Clarke couldn’t _believe_ she’d thought Lexa was cold when they’d first met. Lexa was warm in a strange, subtle way that you have to be really concentrating to notice – then, once you’ve noticed it, it’s all you see.

Sometimes, Clarke would catch herself staring at her host while Lexa was sitting on the couch working on paperwork. The way the shadow of Lexa’s jaw was so clear cut against the slope of her throat, the way her eyelids drooped when she was sleepy, the way she folded herself into the couch when her guard was dropped and she was ready to relax. Clarke almost wished she could run and grab her sketchbook so she could draw Lexa there and then – instead, she had to content herself with committing these details to memory so she could sketch them later, when she was curled up in her room and Lexa had gone to bed.

Clarke pulled on a pair of pants and made her way down the hall and into the wide lounge-kitchen-dining area, where Lexa was fixing herself a cup of coffee. “I feel like we only just had a doctor’s appointment,” Clarke grumbled, plucking a mug off a shelf.

Lexa took the mug off her and filled it with coffee before putting a bit of milk into it. Of course Lexa knew how she liked her coffee. “No, it’s been a month. I’m not trying to drag you to more doctor’s visits than you need, Clarke.”

“Are you sure?” Clarke said, in joking suspicion. “What if you’re slowly increasing the amount of doctor’s appointments we have until I don’t realise we’ve started to live permanently at the OBGYN’s office.”

“You’ve discovered my whole plan,” Lexa deadpanned, taking a deep gulp of coffee. “And I would have gotten away with it too, if it weren’t for you meddling kids.”

Clarke laughed. “And now I get to unmask you and you’re revealed as the evil villain?” Lexa looked away, and Clarke wondered whether they were thinking the same thing – that neither woman had been unmasked in any way in the entire time they’d known each other. Lexa still didn’t know about Clarke’s art, or any of the other big things Clarke had kept from her, and Clarke didn’t know the big things about Lexa either – like why she wanted a baby, like anything more about her family, like her past, like _anything_ of substance really. Clarke marvelled at how two people could be so close without even really knowing these kind of things about each other.

Once coffee was drunk and energy regained, Clarke hauled herself into Lexa’s car, ignoring the fact that her knees were aching a little and, surprise surprise, she needed to pee again.

“How often are you working this week?” Lexa asked innocently as they turned onto the road that the OBGYN’s office was located on.

“Not too often,” Clarke said, trying to remember her roster with a brow furrowed in concentration. She’d been trying to cut back her hours at work now that she was getting more and more noticeably pregnant. Lexa hadn’t mentioned it or asked her to do it. Honestly, Clarke kind of wondered whether, were she to leave this job to have the baby, she’d actually ever come back to it. If everything went well, the exhibition was slated for just before the baby was born – by that time, would she be schmoozing with collectors and critics? Would they be complimenting her on her paintings? Would she have a future in painting, the kind of future she’d always wanted? She shook herself a little. If the past decade had taught her anything, that kind of hope was dangerous. She glanced over at Lexa, and the other woman was staring at her thoughtfully. Clarke squirmed in her seat under Lexa’s gaze. “I think I have the Wednesday dinner shift and Thursday lunch. That’s all as far as I know.”

Lexa nodded as she pulled into a parking space at the doctor’s office. “Good.”

“Why?” Clarke wondered. “You have something planned?”

“Just wondering if you’d like to have dinner,” Lexa said as they climbed out of the car.

“We have dinner every night,” Clarke teased.

“You know what I mean,” Lexa rolled her eyes. “I was thinking the Grounder. Thursday at six?”

“It’s a date.”

They walked over to the surgery and Lexa opened the door for her. The waiting room was mostly empty, apart from an older couple sitting by the window, the heavily pregnant woman reading a magazine and humming under her breath along with the music playing on the radio. The man stared at them as they sat down, and Clarke tried not to have a _here we go again_ moment of resignation. It wasn’t strange for people to stare at them here. The amount of times she or Lexa had done the ‘ _no, we’re not actually a couple,’_ routine had been so staggering, Clarke had taken to just letting people think whatever they liked. She couldn’t imagine the judging stares she was going to get once she actually looked pregnant. Let them stare.

Clarke lifted her chin a little. Let them stare. They were a damn good looking couple, even if they weren't actually a couple.

“Ms Woods, Ms Griffin,” The doctor called, appearing out of a door and smiling over at them. “Come on back.”

They followed him into the surgery and Clarke clambered up onto the higher, leaning seat as was the usual proceeding. Lexa crossed her arms, leaning against the chair and watching as the doctor clicked through something on his computer. “Okey dokey! Twelve weeks, right?”

“Yes, that’s right,” Lexa said, slipping easily into the businesslike, efficient version of herself that she used when talking to most people. Of course, most people didn’t include Clarke. Clarke watched the difference in the dark haired woman with masked amusement. It was almost funny, seeing Lexa like this, when she’d seen the more relaxed easier-going Lexa at home.

“How are you feeling?” The doctor asked Clarke, and she pursed her lips. Dumb question.

“I need to pee four times an hour,” Clarke said succinctly, as though this summed up everything she’d been feeling. She couldn’t be sure, but she swore a shine of amusement flitted across Lexa’s face, but it was gone in moments.

“That’s normal,” The doctor said, nodding. He was unwinding some cables on the Ultrasound machine, glancing up at her every now and then. “The good news is that hopefully most of those pesky early pregnancy symptoms will start to stop. See, now you’re almost done with your first trimester, your uterus will start to drop forward and down a little, just to make some room. This little guy’s gonna start getting big.”

“Great,” Clarke said, with as much enthusiasm as she could muster. Lexa’s amusement deepened.

“Okay, let’s take a look.” The doctor pushed Clarke’s shirt up and squeezed out some of the ultrasound gel onto her abdomen. Clarke glanced over at Lexa, who was staring intently at the monitor. “I think you’ll find some pretty big changes this month,” The doctor said, gliding the hand held device over Clarke’s stomach. “Around now is when the little one will start getting bigger.”

The monitor flickered into life, and the usual array of dark grey blobs faded into view. Clarke couldn’t help frowning a little.

“Ah! Here we go.” The doctor smiled, pointing at the monitor. “There they are.”

Clarke stared at the monitor. The little blob on the screen was, somehow, no longer a blob. A little head was clearly visible and, while the picture was unclear, she could easily imagine that the little grey blurs around its body were tiny arms and legs, only just formed and brand new. Clarke’s breath caught in her throat.

“Hear that?” The doctor said, still smiling.

Through the tinny little speaker on the machine, a tiny thumping noise was barely audible. It was like a little machine, humming and thumping with a muffled sound that almost made it sound as though it was underwater. Even distorted and quiet, there was no mistaking what it was.

“A heartbeat,” Clarke said, her mouth dry and her own heart starting to beat a little faster. Lexa was still and silent beside her.

“That’s right,” The doctor said, nodding once. “See, from about now the little guy’s going to continue developing internal organs and getting bigger.”

“That’s really a little person in there,” Clarke said under her breath, staring over at the monitor. “Holy shit.”

The doctor shifted, maybe not really used to hearing much foul language in his office, but said nothing. Clarke’s eyes were glued to the screen, her eyes straining to hear the little ‘pat-pat’ sound of the baby’s heartbeat. Before now, it had been a blob. A little unidentified void that was just as much a part of her now as, say, her arms or legs, or stomach or lungs. It was just _there,_ and she knew it would become something more in nine months, but now she was feeling an insistent pull on her heart that she hadn’t exactly expected.

There was a little person in there. A person who would eventually grow up to have their own beliefs and ideas and sense of humour, and maybe that little person’s eyes would crinkle in the same way Lexa’s did when she laughed, or maybe that little person would hate broccoli and love chocolate or maybe vice versa. A yawning, gaping chasm of _possibility_ was stretching out before Clarke, and she felt her throat dry at the thought that all that possibility was starting, or had started 12 weeks ago, inside her. She swallowed hard, telling herself it was hormones that were making her eyes prick with tears now.

“So what now?” She heard Lexa ask, and how was Lexa so calm right now?!

“Well, as I said, the baby’s going to start getting bigger now. Hopefully you’ll be seeing a decline on morning sickness, Ms Griffin.” The Doctor was saying. “But apart from that, it’s just a matter of continuing on the trajectory you’re on – from what I can tell, the baby is healthy, and by this stage the risk of miscarriage has dramatically decreased. Just the obvious - keep coming back every month for check-ups, stay away from alcohol, and try and maintain a good diet.”

The doctor pulled the ultrasound device off her skin, and the picture on the screen flickered to black. Clarke felt something tug in her. _Bring it back,_ she thought in vague annoyance. _I don’t want to stop looking._ Somehow, this baby had stopped being her key to getting her art into an exhibition, and had started to become something bigger and better.

They left the doctor’s office not long after, and walked back to the car in silence. Or, at least, Clarke was silent. She tuned out as Lexa started to talk about something, maybe work or the time or the weather or something that was only a dull buzz in Clarke’s ears. As they climbed into the car, Clarke was still staring at her feet.

“Clarke?”

Clarke glanced up, her mind still hazy. “Yeah?”

“I’ve asked you if you’re alright four times now.” Lexa said. “I’d really like an answer.”

“Sorry,” Clarke said at once, shaking her head a little to clear it. She rubbed her temples. “Yeah, uh. I’m... I’m good. I’m fine.”

Lexa fixed a stare on her, lips pursing.

Clarke huffed, rolling her eyes. “I just – Don’t laugh at me, but It only just hit me that there’s a person in there, okay? And it’s weird and kind of amazing and scary and it has a frikkin’ heartbeat now, so it’s almost a real person now, so I’m just dealing with shit now. Let me deal with shit.” She crossed her arms over her chest and frowned, staring straight ahead pointedly.

Lexa was still staring at her when she glanced back.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Clarke protested, shoving Lexa’s shoulder playfully and coaxing a small smile from the other woman. “I’m not insane, just in a state of permanent denial. Well, I was, until ten minutes ago.”

“You’re only just realising you’re pregnant _now?”_ Lexa said incredulously, with a note of disbelief as she started the car. “Seriously?”

“I knew I was pregnant,” Clarke scoffed, crossing her arms tighter. “I... It just didn’t hit me that I was _pregnant._ You know?”

“No, I don’t know.” Lexa said, shaking her head. “I find I only know what you’re talking about thirty percent of the time at the very most.”

“Dick,” Clarke teased. “Hey, can you drop me off at the bank on the way home? I gotta do something.” Now seemed as good a time as any to transfer the money to Wells’ account – and such a big amount of money probably necessitated doing it in person.

Lexa shrugged. “I’ve got nowhere to be, I’ll come in with you.”

The bank was only about a fifteen minute drive from the OBGYN’s office. Clarke turned up the radio and rolled the windows down, laughing when Lexa shot her a confused look. She sung along to the music, in a better mood than she had been for a long time. She glanced over to see Lexa moving her lips slightly, mouthing the words of the song. She grinned, until Lexa noticed her, reddened, and rolled her eyes.

Things were good, Clarke told herself. It was about time she was allowed to enjoy the fact that things were finally _good._

Lexa parked in the car park next the bank and they climbed out of the car. Clarke tried to prevent a smile from creeping onto her features. Once this money was in Wells’ account, she’d be broke again and she’d also be closer to being a professional artist than she’d ever been. Lexa seemed to notice the extra skip in her step, and smirked a little.

Clarke rolled her eyes at the other woman. “What?” She challenged.

“You’re happy,” Lexa commented, holding back a chuckle. Her eyes were shining with amusement, and Clarke was reminded once more of how pretty the dark haired woman looked when she wasn’t playing the ‘angry-scary-lawyer-Lexa’ role.

“Yep,” was all Clarke said, brightly, as they walked into the bank. There were only a few people waiting in line, and Clarke joined the line. Lexa lingered to the side, leaning against a wall and offering Clarke a small smile. Clarke beamed back, watching as Lexa busied herself in the waiting area with some pamphlet or another. Watching her peer down at a pamphlet about promoting saving habits for children, Clarke couldn’t help her smile widening. She noted, not for the first time, how much she’d one day like to set Lexa up on a couch or something and just draw her. Someone like Lexa wouldn’t have a problem not moving for extended periods of time, the woman could be still and poised as a cat, and graceful as one too.

“Next!”

Clarke turned back to notice she was next in line, and moved over to one of the teller’s booths. A bored looking man eyed her judgementally. “Can I help you?”

“Yeah, I need to transfer money to this account.” Clarke pulled out a small wad of sticky notes, on which was written her own bank details, as well as Wells’. She pushed them in the direction of the irritated looking teller. “Here’s the details. And here’s my ID.” He huffed and unsticked the papers, with the air of a man who was completely done with his job. He clicked around something on his computer while Clarke leaned against the wall separating her from the booths and looked around the room. Her eyes straying back to the waiting area, her gaze locked with Lexa’s who was staring at her with a kind of burning thoughtfulness. She looked away as soon as Clarke saw her, but something else entirely distracted Clarke’s attention suddenly –

“There’s nothing in this account, ma’am.”

Clarke spun back around, frowning at the teller. “I’m sorry?”

The teller took his glasses off, brow furrowing in annoyance as he wiped the specs on his shirt. “This account you gave me to transfer from is empty. Are you sure this is the right account?”

Clarke swallowed, picking up the sticky note again, feeling her heart start to beat faster. She only had one account. “Yeah, I – can you check again? Please?” A thin sheen of sweat had broken out on her skin, and she felt something like panic start to buzz in the corner of her mind. “There must be some kind of mistake.”

The man ‘hmph’ed a little and turned back to his computer, taking an exaggerated amount of care typing the account number and information in. He clicked a couple of times. “Nothing, ma’am. I apologise,” he said, without a trace of sincerity.

Clarke squeezed her eyes closed, willing herself to stay calm. Of course there wouldn’t be a problem with the bank. She only had one account, and the money had been there the last time she checked. The bank details were correct, she knew that just from memory. This was the only account she had, she’d had it since she’d moved into her apartment here in the city, only she and Finn had ever had access to –

Her eyes snapped open.

Finn.

Her voice was shaking when she next spoke. “I – uh – um, I don’t suppose you’re able to tell me what the last transaction on this account was? Any information you can give me.” Her hands were shaking where they gripped the counter.

“That I can do,” The teller hmphed, typing something into the computer. It was an excruciatingly long wait before the man’s eyebrows rose and he grunted. “The last transaction was a withdrawal. Everything in the account taken out.”

“Where.” Clarke bit out, swallowing hard. “Can you tell me where the transaction happened? Or when?”

“Transactions are timestamped, so yeah,” the teller said, peering at his computer. “And a transaction that size, It would have had to happen in person through a bank, no ATM would support a withdrawal that size,” he hummed, and Clarke resisted the urge to tell him to hurry up. “Bank branch on Eleventh Street. At 8:42am this very morning.” The teller looked up and frowned. “Ma’am, are you needing me to call the police for you?”

“Not yet,” Clarke said shakily, rubbing a hand down her forehead. 8:42 this morning. Maybe he hadn’t gotten far. _Maybe._

But where would he have gone? What would he do, suddenly having an obscene amount of cash money in his pocket? Would he make a run for it, would be already be out of the city? How could she possibly anticipate where he’d go?

The obvious answer was to go to her old apartment – even if Finn had cleared out, maybe he would have left some clues as to where he was headed. But that would only waste time, the longer she spent in a tailspin the more likely it was that he’d be getting further and further away. She pinched the bridge of her nose and gritted her teeth, trying to ignore the tears threatening to spill from her eyes. She could call the police, but when Finn wanted to go into hiding, he really _vanished_. The police would take too long, by the time they had talked to her and started the search, he would have retreated into whatever hole he usually used to hide when he had heat. Her only chance was to find him herself, and to find him quickly. She felt panic rise in her. She needed a lead.

It clicked into place at once. She needed Raven.

“Thank you for all your help,” she said hurriedly to the teller, and strolled away, already breaking into a powerwalk to get to the door, pulling out her phone.

“Hey, wait!” the teller called, leaning out of his booth to watch her go in bewilderment.

Clarke had saved Raven’s number into her own phone for reasons she couldn’t explain some weeks ago. She knew Raven had done the same. She’d barely left the bank before her phone was dialling Raven’s number. She moved over to a side alley near the carpark to squat on the ground, closing her eyes and praying that Raven was near her phone.

The phone clicked after a few rings. “Griffin, I’m actually glad you called. I was actually about to call y -”

“Raven, thank god,” Clarke wheezed, rubbing her face with her hand. “I need your help, I – I have no idea what’s going on and – Raven, have you heard from Finn? Do you know where he is?”

“That’s why I was gonna call you.” Raven said smoothly, calmingly. “He called me an hour or two ago.”

“What did he say?” Clarke asked eagerly. “Did he say where he was?”

“He asked me to run away with him.” Raven said with a note of disgust. “Told me he was leaving the city and that we could have a fresh start. Told me he’d changed, the usual bullshit – “

“He stole my money,” Clarke said. “He took everything I have from my bank account, he’s trying to run off with it.” She let out a shaky breath. “Did he say where he was going?”

“Jesus, Clarke – Ohio. He said he’s headed for Ohio. That’s where his mother lives.” Raven said quickly. “Listen – Clarke. No way they’re letting him on a plane with that much money in cash. Red flags’ll be waving from the second he goes through security.”

“He might be able to get through, it’s only a domestic flight,” Clarke reasoned, gritting her teeth. “I need to get to that airport. JFK?”

“JFK.” Raven confirmed. “I hope you can catch him. Good luck, Clarke.”

“Thanks. I’ll let you know.” Clarke hung up the phone, wiping away a treacherous tear that had fallen down her cheek. There was no time for crying now. If Finn managed to weasel out of the state, he could burrow underground and there’d be no finding him.

She turned and walked out of the alleyway as quickly as she could muster, and almost ran smack into a bewildered looking Lexa, walking over to her. Lexa steadied her by grabbing her forearms when she staggered, and stared at her like she’d gone insane. “Clarke, what the hell!?” She barked. “What just happened, is everything okay?”

It would be so easy, Clarke thought, to lie and tell Lexa that everything was fine, that she’d just had some kind of panic episode and needed fresh air. It would be easy to placate Lexa and go to the airport on her own, fix her own problems. Lexa’s voice echoed in the back of her mind, though.

_You need to learn to ask for help._

“Lexa,” Clarke said, gritting her teeth and meeting the other woman’s concerned gaze. “I’m really sorry, and I’ll explain everything on the way but right now I need your help – do you think you could drive me to the airport?”


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter - Showdown at the airport, and Lexa learns more about Clarke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N - We're on the downhill run now, gang, only 5 chapters to go! I gotta say, it's been a real pleasure updating daily and getting to read all your comments - i've had a rough week, and your feedback has honestly been a real highlight for me <3

_CHAPTER ELEVEN_

Lexa hit the road hard. It was hard to speed in the city, where traffic prevented anyone from getting up any kind of speed in the busier parts of town, but somehow she managed to overtake every car they came near, swerving and darting in and out of traffic.

“How much did he take,” Lexa asked, as she veered into a side street to avoid a gridlocked intersection.

“Everything in the account,” Clarke said, gripping the handle on the door as they swerved.

Lexa glanced over. “How much?”

Clarke seemed to shift uncomfortably. “The first part of your payment. That’s pretty much it.”

The thought that Clarke didn’t have any money apart from that payment that Lexa herself had made was a thought that she would have time to ponder a little later – for now, though, her attention was mostly taken up avoiding collisions and following the signs that led to the airport.

The traffic, of course, worsened as they got closer to the terminal, where businesspeople and holidaymakers alike were trying to get checked in and through the gates. Around the immense terminal building itself, there was no way known that they would be getting a park. The visitor’s carpark was a solid ten minute walk away, and as Lexa pulled into the road that led to the airport taxi bay, she saw Clarke nod her head out of the corner of her eye.

“Good, drop me off here and I’ll go in and look for him while you go park the car.”

Lexa glanced at her sharply. “And have you run around in there on your own? Not a chance, Clarke. I’m coming in with you.”

Clarke scowled at her. “Where do you plan on leaving the car.”

Lexa answered by pulling into a space that had just opened up in the taxi bay, to the honking and general shouting of taxi drivers and airport patrons alike. One cab driver even climbed out of his car and started marching over to them. “Come on,” Lexa said brusquely. “Before I get eaten alive by an army of cab drivers.”

Clarke almost smiled as they climbed out of the car and started jogging over to the entrance. Inside, the foyer was filled with people lugging huge wheelie bags around in lines, waiting to be checked in by a row of airport clerks at desks. Lexa frowned, looking at the immense crowd. “This might be complicated.”

“Might be,” Clarke said derisively, running a hand through her hair, stressed look in her eyes. She walked over to the board that displayed all the incoming and outgoing flights. Walking over to her side, Lexa scanned the domestic flights. “There’s a flight leaving for Ohio in forty minutes.”

“That could be his,” Clarke said. “And forty minutes away – it won’t have boarded yet.” She frowned. “Maybe we could talk to someone at the desk, or someone in charge of... I dunno, _something._ There must be someone we can talk to.” Lexa’s eyebrows rose, as something occurred to her suddenly. Clarke stared at her. “What?”

Lexa pulled out her phone and scrolled through the contacts.

“What are you doing?”

Lexa put up a finger, already feeling relieved for having remembered that it had only been around six months ago that she’d personally gotten a Mr. Henry Yorbitz off charges for white collar crime – it had also been a stroke of luck that she’d remembered that Mr. Yorbitz’s wife worked at the airport.

The phone picked up. “Hello?”

“Ms. Yorbitz, I’m not sure if you remember me, but – “

“Ms. Woods, right? Hank’s lawyer – of course! Is everything alright, is Hank okay?”

Lexa gritted her teeth. “Fine, Ms. Yorbitz. Are you at work? I’m afraid I have an unusual favour to ask.”

“Yes, I’m at the airport. What is it?”

“There’s a man that could be about to get on a flight to Ohio – if that’s the case, he can’t get on that plane, Ms. Yorbitz. Would you be able to check the passenger lists for outgoing flights to Ohio?” Lexa explained quickly, hoping Ms. Yorbitz wasn’t the kind of woman who asked too many questions. Thankfully, it seemed this wasn’t the case.

“I don’t exactly have the power to...” Ms. Yorbitz said slowly, but paused. “You know what, I think I can do it, I just have to go ask some questions to the right people. What’s the name.”

“Finn Collins.”

“Alright, I’ll see what I can do. I’ll call you back?”

“Yes, thank you.” Lexa hung up the phone and turned back to Clarke, who was staring at her expectantly. “I have someone finding out if Finn’s here, and if he’s booked onto a flight. In the meantime,” Lexa nodded at the domestic flights board. “We need to get to that terminal.”

Clarke immediately broke into a jog, and Lexa did the same to keep up. She figured there wasn’t much point telling the blonde girl to take it easy, or in reminding her that she was pregnant – nothing was slowing Clarke down as they ran through the hallways of the terminal.

They had a short wait while they made their way through security to get through to the departure lounges, and Clarke was shaking with penned up energy the entire time. She was picked out for a random bomb check, possibly because she seemed so agitated, and the security officers watched them go suspiciously as they moved past the security line and into the airport itself.

Clarke looked around at the sprawling setup of the departure terminals, wide eyed, and Lexa put a hand on her back to guide her forward gently. They snaked their way through the throng of people, Clarke checking the time on her phone and her panic seeming to amplify.

It was so busy around the airport that Lexa almost didn’t feel the vibration of her phone in her pocket. She picked it up and held it to her hear. “Ms. Yorbitz?”

“No Finn Collins on any passenger lists for Ohio flights I’m afraid, Ms. Woods.” The woman on the other end piped cheerfully.

Lexa winced. Maybe he hadn’t got on a plane. But that put them back to square one – how would they find him if he’d bunkered down here in the city? She was about to thank the woman on the phone and hang up, but Ms. Yorbitz’s voice on the other end stopped her.

“But,” she chirped. “The search did turn up a Finn Collins booked onto a flight headed to Florida.”

Lexa froze. “What time?”

“Leaves in about twenty minutes. Terminal 14.” Ms. Yorbitz said. Then she added, doubtfully, “I gotta tell you, Ms. Woods, I don’t think I can stop any flights, I don’t have the power.”

“That’s fine.” Lexa said. “Thank you.” She hung up the phone and turned to Clarke. “Terminal 14. Hurry.”

And then they were running again, darting in between people to all out sprint towards the terminal. People eyed them angrily as they bustled by, and Lexa mumbled apologies to a few. Clarke ignored everything, elbowing and jostling her way through the crowds. She clearly tired quickly – she was pregnant, after all, but she kept running.

The lounge emblazoned with the words _TERMINAL 14_ loomed, and Lexa let out a breath of relief as she saw that there were a multitude of people just starting to board – they might not be too late. A multitude there was, though, and Lexa’s brow furrowed as she tried to see past the crowds and find one particular face. The airport attendants were letting people through the gates and onto the plane, and the pressure she felt intensified – with every moment that passed, every passenger that passed through the gate, the chance that Finn would disappear grew.

“Split up,” Clarke barked in her ear, and Lexa turned around to protest, but Clarke had already melted into the crowd.

Lexa could do nothing else but move amongst the passengers as well, searching for the face of a man she barely remembered. She knew he had dark hair, and a handsome face, but how tall was he? What did he actually _look_ like. As she pushed past people, they glared at her, untangling themselves and each other from their bags and luggage as she weaved through the throng of people.

She was spared her search as she looked up to see the back of a familiar blonde head making a beeline for an also familiar man standing towards the front of the line. Suddenly feeling sick at the thought of Clarke getting into a brawl in the middle of an airport, Lexa made to scramble over.

She watched as Clarke pushed him out of line with a violent shove to the chest. Finn staggered back, out of the line, only the purest shock on his face. Lexa bustled past the line as Finn took a few frightened steps back, cornered by the furious might of a seething Clarke.

She only got close in time to hear the tail end of a string of furious expletive Clarke was snarling.

“Wha – Uh – Y – You...!!” Finn was babbling, wide eyed as he took in the sight of Clarke, in all her ropable, pregnant glory. “Clarke!?”

“Give me the fucking money back, Finn,” Clarke growled, her eyes burning with an intense brand of hatred that Lexa had never seen in them before. Clarke on a regular day was all fiery passion and wild good humour, but this Clarke was a fire _storm._ “I know you have it.”

Finn’s mouth was a thin line. “I have no idea what you’re fucking talking about.” Finn spat, eyes brimming with contempt.

Clarke let out a growl, and started forward, but Lexa caught her with a hand on her arm. Turning back, Clarke glared at her. Lexa shook her head a little and turned a cool gaze onto Finn. “Finn, I’m sure I don’t need to remind you that I am a lawyer.”

Finn surveyed her through narrowed eyes.

Lexa raised her eyebrows at him. “I’d advise you think this through before you do anything you regret. It’s worth remembering that, when faced with a situation like this, I know all the right numbers to call to make your life very difficult.”

Finn paled, only a little. He looked between them, before his eyes finally settled on Clarke. “I have just as much right to it as you do,”

“In what _universe?!”_ Clarke exploded in disbelief.

“I’m the one who kept you on track with this whole surrogacy bullshit,” Finn snarled. “You know how many times you wanted to chicken out? I’m the only reason you have this money.”

“Fuck you,” Clarke growled, straining against the restraining hand Lexa still had on her arm.

“I can’t have you wasting this money on your bullshit, you know that fucking exhibition will never go anywhere,” Finn said venomously, and Lexa’s brow furrowed in momentary confusion. _Exhibition?_

Clarke stared him down. “It’s my money to spend on whatever bullshit I decide.” Clarke said, with more calmness then she’d had for the past fifteen minutes. Lexa glanced down at her, and her eyes were clouded with something more than just anger.

She looked back up at Finn, as the man started to edge backwards, looking between them warily. Lexa had spent enough time around criminals to know what it looked like when they were about to make a run for it. Behind her, she could hear the flight attendants for the Florida flight talking, and from the corner of her eye she saw that they were looking over in their direction.

“Finn,” she said quickly. “Think this through. There’s no point running now, you know that. Hand over the money.”

Finn stared at her, the look of a cornered animal in his eyes.

“The attendants are going to call security in a minute,” Lexa said coolly, almost quietly. “Are we going to tell them that there isn’t a problem?”

Finn looked mutinous for a moment, before his eyes slid closed and he let out a long sigh. Reaching into the coat he wore, he pulled out a sizable paper package from a pocket and moved forward, holding it out to Clarke. “Here. Go ahead and fuck your life up even more.” He bit out as Clarke took the package. “See if I care.”

Lexa glanced over at the attendants, and frowned when she saw one of them was on the phone, still looking over at Finn. Turning back to where Finn was staring angrily at his feet, she sneered at him. “A word of advice,” she said. “I’d say you have around five minutes before security shows up. If there was a time to run,” she started to steer Clarke back the way they’d come. “It’s now.”

Lexa turned back and walked by Clarke as they moved back towards the entrance to the terminal. She didn’t turn back again. If she had, she figured she would have seen Finn scurry away into the crowd, like the rat he is.

 

* * * * *

 

Lexa couldn’t find it in her to be annoyed that they’d towed her car away. She had, after all, left it in a taxi zone. She’d be thankful, she thought, if she managed to get it back without any dents or scrapes on it, the revenge of angry cab drivers. There was a valet service based nearby, and she offered a sizable amount of money to a valet to go and retrieve her car from the airport’s impound area. He quickly agreed, and she sat down on the curb near the road next to a silent Clarke.

The blonde girl was staring straight out onto the road, her eyes glazed in that way that meant she was far away from here, so deep in her own thoughts she probably couldn’t even see what was happening right in front of her. Lexa squeezed her shoulder gently. “Are you alright?”

Clarke let out a breath. “Yeah.”

A few moments of silence passed, during which Lexa was still staring at her, trying to gauge what she was feeling. Hesitating, Lexa swallowed hard before speaking. “You know – if he had made it out with the money, if we’d lost him, I would have reimbursed you the money you lost.”

Clarke looked over sharply at her. “I wouldn’t have let you do that,” she said, eyes hard.

Lexa couldn’t help smiling a little. “I know you wouldn’t.” Clarke looked away again. Sighing, she shook her head and edged a little closer to where Lexa was sitting next to her, so their legs were pressed together. She leant her head against Lexa’s shoulder and closed her eyes. Lexa felt her stomach swoop at the warmth on her shoulder, and she tilted her head so her temple rested against Clarke’s head. “Can I ask you something?” Lexa asked slowly.

“Of course,” Clarke said.

“What was Finn talking about – the exhibition? What does that mean?” Lexa wondered, hearing the words Finn spat out at Clarke in her mind.

Clarke was silent. When there was no answer for another couple of minutes, Lexa contented herself with the fact that she wasn’t getting an answer. It was like the usual walls had gone up – Lexa had asked the wrong question and Clarke had shut down, just like normal.

Then, though, Clarke said in a small voice, “I want... I want to tell you everything.”

Lexa felt a sudden warmth bloom deep in her stomach. “I would like that.”

“When we get home.”

“Deal.” Lexa said firmly. She was about to say something else, but a vibration in her pocket made her pause. She had to twist around to pull her phone from her pocket, and Clarke moved her head off Lexa’s shoulder to inch away again. Lexa frowned at the name _INDRA_ on the incoming call. She pressed the green phone button on the screen and pressed it to her ear.

“Indra?”

“Where are you?” The brusque voice on the other end demanded. “I was just at your apartment and no one’s home.”

“I didn’t realise you were in the city,” Lexa said blandly.

“Of course I am.” Indra said impatiently. “I’m here until after Christmas, I would have thought Anya told you that.”

“I haven’t spoken to Anya in a while.” Lexa grumbled, annoyed that this call had cost her the warm head pressing against her shoulder. “What is it?”

“You’re going to the family Christmas, yes?” Indra said. “Of course you are, I’m sure Anya will invite you soon enough, it’s only a few months away. I only stopped by to tell you some good news, but I suppose it’ll have to wait now.”

“Good news?” Lexa said cautiously.

“You’ll have to wait now.” Indra said, and Lexa detected Indra’s own special brand of teasing excitement in her voice – Indra’s excitement always used to make Lexa nervous. “But just know, I have a Christmas surprise for you.”

 _God,_ Lexa thought with dread. “I hope you didn’t go to any trouble,” Lexa said suspiciously.

“Not at all,” Indra said heartily. “But I think it’s just what you’ve been needing lately.” There was noise from the other end, as though Indra had just walked out onto the street. “I have to go, Lexa. I’ll see you at Christmas.”

“Bye,” Lexa said miserably, as she hung up the phone.

Clarke was staring over at her quizzically. “Your sister? Is everything okay?”

Lexa pouted, crossing her arms over her stomach. “Informing me of the family Christmas plans. So no, everything is not okay.”

Smiling a little, Clarke actually let a little chuckle slip from her lips. “Your family can’t be that bad.”

Lexa stared over at her with a small smile. “I’d like to tell you about them sometime.”

Clarke smiled back warmly. “I’d like that too.”

 

* * * * *

 

By the time they finally got back to the apartment building, the sun was starting to dip low over the horizon, and Lexa could see the weariness plainly on Clarke’s face. She put a hand on Clarke’s back as they walked down the hall to the door, even though she knew the blonde girl didn’t really need it. The contact, the pressure, the warmth – it was these that _Lexa_ needed more than anything else.

As soon as they walked into the apartment, Clarke dumped her bag on the kitchen counter and disappeared down the hall, calling “stay here,” as she went. Lexa sighed and leaned against the counter, waiting.

By the time Clarke appeared out in the lounge room again, she was holding the large cardboard box she’d arrived at the apartment with. Lexa’s brow furrowed in confusion. That box had just contained Clarke’s clothes, which now hung in the wardrobe in the guest bedroom. She watched as Clarke set up the box on a couch and began to unload.

Lexa’s eyebrows rose as the blonde girl unpacked one painting after another, large canvas spattered with vivid colours. Clarke set up the pictures, leaning them against the side of the coffee table and the couches so Lexa could clearly see them.

Lexa looked around at them. They were beautiful, she could definitely see why Clarke had wanted to take them with her in that box. She vaguely remembered seeing a box in Clarke’s apartment labelled _paintings,_ and she wondered whether these canvases had been carried even further than she’d thought. Maybe they were family heirlooms, they certainly looked like they might have cost a fair amount of money. Lexa herself had never been too much an art critic, analysing art was certainly more Anya’s forte than her own. But she could still appreciate a good piece of art, and the works that Clarke was slowly unloading and leaning up against the furniture for her to see were very good. Privately, she made a mental note to ask Clarke who the artist was, because she’d quite like to have something like this up in her office. They were consisting of dark and fluid blue shapes that were almost illusionary in the way they appeared to move around the canvas. They were hugely evocative, and somehow had an air of both desperation and hope about them. Even though the shapes were abstract, it was possible to imagine more concrete shapes, like picking out shapes in clouds. Lexa could see a city skyline and a little house in one of them.

“They’re beautiful,” Lexa hummed.

“They’re mine,” Clarke said, with the air of someone confessing something as quickly as possible, to get it over with. She looked down at the paintings, pointedly avoiding Lexa’s gaze. “I painted them when I first came to live in the city.”

Lexa stared at the blonde girl, frozen in place. “Y- you made these?”

Clarke fiddled with the corner of one of the canvas’, staring resolutely away from Lexa. “Yeah. The reason I didn’t become a doctor is because I dropped out of pre med to major in art instead. I wanted to be an artist.”

Lexa was still staring at her, trying to prevent her mouth from falling open. Of all the things that Lexa didn’t know about Clarke that she was slowly learning, this felt like the one that made the most sense. Because of _course_ Clarke was an artist, and a good one. All those times when the blonde girl’s eyes clouded over and she suddenly looked far away suddenly seemed to make so much sense, everything about Clarke seemed to click into place in Lexa’s mind – _She’s Clarke Griffin, and she’s an artist._ It felt like the most natural and _right_ thing in the world. Lexa berated herself internally – she’d only seen these handfuls of paintings, why did Clarke as an artist fit so perfectly into her mind?

 _Because you knew she was more than she said,_ Lexa thought. _You knew she was more than a fry cook who desperately needed money._

Clarke leaned against the arm of the couch, sighing. “Well – that was the plan in college. Octavia was going to be a lawyer and I was going to be an artist. I got to the city after graduating and started painting, but...” she smiled a little wistfully. “No one really cared about my paintings. Honestly, even I stopped caring about them for a while there, I thought it was just a dumb dream.”

Lexa swallowed hard, wanting to say something about how it wasn’t a dumb dream, how it was important and real and not at all dumb. She was incapable of doing any more than staring at the profile of Clarke’s face, silhouetted against the now diminishing evening light of the window.

“The money was for an exhibition that my friend is putting together. He’s building a gallery from an old warehouse, asked me if I wanted to buy into it along with a couple of other artists, and we’d all exhibit our stuff there once it’s done. It was going to cost an arm and a leg, and I didn’t think I’d be able to do it.” She shrugged, and looked down at her feet. “I didn’t have the money, and the kind of money he was talking about I wouldn’t be able to earn if I worked for months without spending a thing. So...” She ran a finger along the top of one of the canvas’. “I spoke to a surrogacy agency, because that was the only way I figured I’d be able to get the money for the exhibition and the gallery. That’s why I became a surrogate.” Crossing her arms over her chest, she shook her head. “And I don’t know if this exhibition will make a difference, maybe it’ll be a waste of money, no one will come see our stuff and I’ll just have to come to terms with the fact that I’m a shitty painter.” She finally looked up at Lexa, and there was something burning behind her eyes, something like conviction, with a bit of defensiveness. “But I still have to try.”

Lexa held her gaze, trying to find words. There had been a lot of times in her acquaintance with Clarke that Lexa had been floored at seemingly innocuous moments by the blonde girl. Floored by something she said, something she did, or maybe just how beautiful she looked while doing it. This was one of those times, and Lexa had never felt a more powerful urge to take those few little steps forward and kiss Clarke.

Lexa’s silence seemed to make Clarke uneasy. She walked towards Lexa, looking worried. “Hey, I – uh, just because I started out only doing it for the money doesn’t mean I don’t care about this baby at all, okay? I’m going to do everything I can to make sure this baby is healthy and happy.”

They were barely a step apart now, it would take nothing for Lexa to just lean forward and press her lips to Clarke’s. She could feel the warmth of the other woman so close to her, and imagined that warmth pressed up against her. _As far as you know, she’s straight,_ a voice in her mind warned her. _Don’t make her uncomfortable, or worse, make her hate you, just because you can’t control your emotions._ Lexa swallowed hard, her gaze still on the wide blue eyes that were so close. “I... I know a critic. An art critic, I mean. Old family friend. He’s always looking for new artists and exhibitions. This gallery project sounds like something he’d write about.” She watched something like disbelief move across Clarke’s features. “I could mention it to him.”

Clarke’s mouth split into a smile, the kind that covered her entire face and made her eyes shine. Before Lexa knew what to do with herself, Clarke had moved forward to pull her into a hug. Lexa’s arms encircled the other woman slowly, and she swallowed again. “Thank you, Lexa.” Clarke said softly.

“You’re not a shitty painter, Clarke.” Lexa replied, her voice a little croaky. “These paintings are amazing. You’re amazing.”

Clarke pulled back, still close, and Lexa’s hands remained on her forearms. Suddenly everything was close, too close. Lexa could smell the sweet smell that seemed to follow Clarke everywhere even more intensely when they were this close, it seemed to radiate from her hair. Her heart was beating in her throat, suddenly nervous and exhilarated.

Lexa could have imagined it, but she swore Clarke’s eyes darted down to stare at Lexa’s lips, and Lexa wondered whether anyone would blame her right now if she leaned forward those last few inches and closed the distance. At least then she’d _know_. Clarke would back off and tell Lexa that she wasn’t gay, just like Lexa had already known, and they would try and move on with their lives. _Or,_ Lexa heard herself reasoning in her mind, _she’ll kiss you back._ Just the idea of it was enough to set Lexa’s heart beating a little faster.

But then Clarke was leaning back, turning around and facing the paintings again, walking away as the smell and the warmth of her receded as well. Lexa felt adrift for a moment, like she was freefalling without any kind of anchor to tether her as she watched Clarke start to pick up the paintings and load them back into the box. “I think I’m going to turn in. It’s been a long day – but thank you,” Clarke said, and her voice was low, gravelly, as though she was tired. She picked up the box and glanced back at Lexa, eyes darting away before Lexa could really return the gaze. “I mean it, Lexa. Thank you. For today and – and just for everything.”

“Of course,” Lexa said, and she cursed herself when it was barely more than a whisper.

Clarke started to move in the direction of the hallway, but before she disappeared from view entirely, she turned to offer Lexa a small smile, eyes shining in the gathering darkness. “Night, Lex.”

Lexa swallowed as Clarke moved into the guest bedroom and closed the door quietly behind her. “Good night, Clarke.”

She sat down on the couch and buried her head in her hands.

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter: Clarke comes clean to everyone, and is forced to face her maybe not-so-platonic feelings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N - Chapter twelve, we're so close to the end aaa :D I don't even know how i'm gonna feel when it's all done uploading.  
> I'm getting such lovely comments from you guys, and I'd like to take the time soon to reply to them, bc I didn't get a chance today

 

 

_CHAPTER TWELVE_

Weeks passed, and soon it was December. Not the slow, sluggish kind of weeks that trailed by when Clarke used to live in her old apartment, when there was nothing to wake up to the next day except for the potential surprise of Finn actually being on the other side of the bed, and a day of work.

These were easy weeks, that flew by quickly because the days were filled with good things rather than things that Clarke just wanted to get over and done with. She would wake up wrapped in warm blankets (the weather was starting to cool dramatically,) in a comfortable bed and be tempted to stay in there all day. But Lexa would be in the kitchen, and Clarke would happily drag herself out of bed to share a coffee with the dark haired woman before the day of work began. Often Lexa would already have made Clarke’s coffee, of course just the way she liked it, so almost as soon as she entered the kitchen the sweet smell of her favourite brew would perk her up instantly. Then Lexa would go to work, and Clarke might go to the gallery to help out around the construction site as best she could, or maybe meet Octavia for lunch. There were the days of work, sure, but even they had somehow lost a little of their repugnance when she’d often come home to find Lexa had picked up food from the Grounder, and she knew she’d have an pleasant evening of relaxing on the couch with her host – maybe to a movie, maybe to just talk, it’s not like it mattered.

Honestly, Clarke was starting to get the feeling that the more time she got to spend with Lexa, the happier a person she’d be. It was too easy to relax, to feel at ease around the other woman, and hey, Clarke would be lying if she said she’d never caught herself staring at Lexa for a little too long, or finding her thoughts lost somewhere in dark hair and green eyes when she was at work.

Okay, maybe if Clarke was being totally honest with herself, she’d admit that maybe the way her pulse felt as though it quickened when they’d brush by one another in the kitchen, or be sitting close to each other on the couch possibly meant something more than that they were extremely good friends. Privately she thought that maybe it wouldn’t be a terrible thing to be more than friends with Lexa. If that meant that she could reach out and run her hands over Lexa’s skin and not have to let go, not have to break that connection of warmth and comfort, then hey, Clarke was all for it. Because somehow, over those easy weeks since meeting Lexa and since everything started to change, she’d graduated from just wanting to sketch the curving line of Lexa’s throat and jaw, to kind of wanting to run her lips along it and taste the skin there instead. Yes, if Clarke was being _totally_ honest with herself, that moment after showing Lexa her paintings in the lounge room, when they’d been so close that, in the haze of the tiredness and emotions from a stressful day, she’d felt sure that she’d lose control entirely and lean forward to close the distance.

But then reality had crashed headlong into her, and she’d pulled away, retreating into the guest bedroom. Because with a cold feeling she’d remembered – _The only reason you’re here is because of this baby. Don’t make it weird,_ she told herself. It was too easy to convince herself that Lexa felt the same when the dark haired woman would stare at her too long sometimes, and when she got that warm, happy look in her eyes. Hey, maybe Lexa even did feel the same – but that didn’t change the fact that once this baby was born, Clarke would be out on the streets again.

Contractually, _legally,_ she would never be able to see the baby (and by extension, Lexa,) again.

Saying goodbye to the baby was going to be hard – harder, even than she had ever anticipated. She’d scoffed at the surrogate blogs she’d been reading online, the ones that warned that most if not all surrogates ended up with an emotional attachment to the babies they carried. From the beginning, this baby had only been a paycheck, and Clarke was happy to keep it that way if it meant she didn’t get too attached. But, of course, she knew herself and maybe she could have known from the beginning that this wasn’t going to work. Sometimes she’d look down and talk to her now bulging stomach, imagining that the little person inside was listening intently to every word she said. Sometimes it was just observations about her day, but she’d sometimes rant about things that annoyed her, and somehow it made her feel better – the baby, after all, was a tremendously good listener.

She wasn’t looking forward to saying goodbye to the baby at all, but the idea of saying goodbye to Lexa had her stomach swirling in discomfort. How could she say goodbye to someone she cared this much for, for no other reason that ‘the contract says so.’ She was used to seeing Lexa every day, at morning and in the evenings – on weekends, they’d be together all the time, sometimes going out for lunch or a walk, and sometimes staying in for a movie marathon. She got the feeling Lexa didn’t spend much time doing things just for recreation, and Clarke made a point of slowing things down, making sure their walks through the park weren’t over too quickly, that they stopped to sit on park benches and just look around. She couldn’t tell if Lexa enjoyed this pace, but she seemed to have a calmness and ease about her that she hadn’t had when Clarke had first known her.

But no matter what she felt, or thought she was starting to feel toward her host – there was no way in hell she could act on those feelings. Not when no matter what happened, in a few months she’d be saying goodbye.

Which is why when she woke up on a Friday morning, wandered out into the kitchen, as she usually did, picked up her coffee and sat down at the kitchen bench opposite Lexa, rather than standing by the dark haired woman just to feel the pressure of someone at her side. “Good morning,” Lexa said lightly, closing the newspaper she was reading. She was already dressed for work, wearing a crisp suit – Lexa always dressed immaculately. Clarke, on the other hand, had no shift at work today, and was going to enjoy wearing her pyjamas for as long as she was reasonably able to.

“Morning,” Clarke said, sipping her coffee.

“How are you feeling this morning?” Lexa asked, finishing her own coffee and moving over to the sink to wash her cup.

“Great,” Clarke smiled. And she was. Sure, the pregnancy blogs online would tell her that she was in the middle of her second trimester, and was in the throes of some serious happy hormones, but she was content to just appreciate a good mood for what it was. “Hey, make sure all your laundry’s out in the hall before you go, will you? I’ll do a load today before I leave for the gallery,”

“Sure,” Lexa said, turning back to lean on the bench. She seemed uneasy, and Clarke frowned at her. “Hey, you know how it’s Christmas next week?”

“Christmas?!” Clarke said, teasingly sarcastic in her mock shock. “Golly, I had no idea! The decorations in the stores didn’t give it away, and I thought those carollers were just homeless guys!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Lexa said, rolling her eyes, but smiling. “I was actually wanting to talk to you about my Family Christmas.”

“The one at Anya’s?” She wondered. “What about it?”

“Would... would you like to come?”

Clarke stared at her. She’d learned more and more over the weeks about Lexa’s family, a topic previously off limits. But she’d never met any of them, much less been asked to by Lexa. “Is.. isn’t it a _family_ Christmas?” she asked cautiously. “Would I be welcome?”

“I would like it if you came with me,” Lexa said quietly, a little nervously, and glanced down at the bench.

Clarke smiled. “I’d love to.”

Lexa met her gaze and grinned. “Great,” she sounded like she actually meant it, and Clarke felt warm all over. “I should warn you, my Family Christmases are intense.”

Clarke hummed thoughtfully. “I’m guessing you don’t mean the ‘familial bonding and sharing of love and Christmas joy’ kind of intense?”

“More like, ‘coliseum showdown’ intense. ‘World war one dogfight’ intense.” Lexa said.

“My usual Christmases with Finn were always just ‘get drunk and watch _A Christmas Story_ on TV.’” Clarke said, leaning her head on her hand and smiling. “An intense Christmas could be a nice change.”

“Keep thinking that,” Lexa said uneasily, and then fixed Clarke with a steady look. “Do you miss him?”

Clarke blinked in surprise. “Finn? God, no.”

“I mean – “ Lexa said slowly. “You did live with him for a long time. You’d have to have _some_ good memories.”

Clarke thought for a moment. “Yeah, I guess I do,” she frowned. “But I also have happy memories with the lady who bags my groceries. And they probably mean the same to me.” She shrugged. “The only reason Finn and I were together was for sex and for someone to come home to. There wasn’t really much else to it than that. It’s depressing I wasted so much of my life on someone like that, when Finn was one big dead end, but - “ she shook herself a little. “It happened, and I can’t really change it.”

Lexa nodded slowly. Clarke stared at her, suddenly seized with a question she knew if she’d asked months ago she’d have been shut down at once. But, now? Things were different now. _They_ were different. “What about you,” she asked, trying to sound as casual as she could. “You date much?” Maybe months ago, this question would have meant nothing – now though? Her heart was beating in her throat.

Lexa frowned, and Clarke almost thought she wasn’t going to answer. “I...” Lexa looked uneasy for a moment before shrugging, picking up Clarke’s now empty mug and going over to the sink to wash it, possibly to avoid looking at Clarke. “I had someone. Long term, broke up with her over a year ago. Not much else to it.” She fell silent.

 _Her?_ Clarke felt something warm and happy and rejoicing unfurl in her stomach. “What was she like?” Clarke asked innocently.

“She was good,” Lexa said, and when she turned around to lean on the bench, facing Clarke, she had a small smile on her face, as if she were playing out some happy memory in her mind. “I cared about her a lot. But things end,” she sighed, crossing her arms. “That’s just the way it is.”

“Was it amicable?” Clarke asked, wondering whether Lexa would cut her off if she overstepped.

Lexa hesitated, her eyes flicking up to Clarke’s. They stayed that way, staring one another down, until Lexa sighed. “No. Not really. Costia was... she moved overseas for work, and decided she didn’t want to do the long distance thing. I think she knew we’d been growing apart and didn’t want to prolong the breakup. But it _was_ a long time ago now.”

“I’m sorry,” Clarke hummed.

“It was a long time ago.” Lexa repeated firmly.

“There was this girl in college,” Clarke remembered suddenly, staring over at the wall with a small smile. “We dated all through freshman year, and a couple months more. Her name was Niylah.” She shook herself a little. “You’re right, things end. But I’m still glad it happened, just like I’m kind of glad Finn happened. They’re important parts of my life, and I’m glad I had someone to share them with.” When she looked back at Lexa, the other woman was staring at her, having fallen very still. Clarke frowned. “What?”

“Nothing,” Lexa looked away, wringing her hands almost nervously. “I should get moving. Are you going to be alright today?”

“Yeah,” Clarke chuckled. “I’ll be fine. Gonna head to the gallery and see how things are going there. Maybe have lunch with Octavia.”

“You distract Octavia,” Lexa reproached gently, small smile on her face. “You should let her actually get some work done.” Clarke just stuck her tongue out at the other woman, and went to get dressed. Before she disappeared down the hallway, Lexa called out to her, making her pause. “I meant to tell you earlier, I’m going on a trip cross state for work. I leave the day after Christmas. Shouldn’t be more than a few days.”

Clarke shrugged, keeping her features impassive even though the prospect of a couple of days without Lexa were enough to put a dampener on her good mood. “No problem,” she said. “Really though, right after Christmas?” She added, her lips curving into an unconscious pout.

Lexa smiled, containing a laugh as Clarke wiped the frown off her face hastily. “It’s unfortunate, I know. Like I said, it shouldn’t be more than a few days. Believe me – I’d much rather be here.”

Clarke shot her a wide smile before turning to walk down the hall towards her room

Once Lexa left, Clarke was treated to the unusual but now familiar feeling of being alone in the apartment. When this had first happened, she’d found herself feeling distinctly awkward – it wasn’t her apartment after all, and all she didn’t even want to touch anything for fear of breaking it. Everything looked so expensive here.

As time wore on, though, Clarke felt more and more comfortable in the apartment – she’d spent just as much time here as she had in any of her other apartments and, plus, the sheer level of luxurious comfort of the place didn’t hurt either. She frowned up at the clock, figuring that she didn’t really need to head over to the gallery for another hour or two. She retrieved her sketchbook from the guest bedroom, along with a pencil and eraser, and headed out onto the balcony to sit down on one of the barely used chairs there. Leaning her feet on the railing, she sketched the rough shapes of the birds that flitted by the trees, having only a moment to block in their poses before they disappeared again. She’d sketch out the patterns and render the feathers from memory, enjoying the feeling of having a sketchbook and pencil in her hand.

In fact, she become so lost in what she was going, she didn’t notice the tinted glass door to the balcony slide open, and an unfamiliar figure step out.

“Whoa!” She blurted as she saw him from the corner of her eye, springing up from where she sat, eyes wide as she stared at the unknown intruder. He was tall, bulky with muscle beneath an untucked shirt, sleeves popped to the elbows. He had a satchel over his shoulder and a shaved head. Thankfully, Clarke noted, he seemed just as surprised as he was. “Who are you?!” She demanded, putting her sketchbook down. “H – how did you get in here?!”

He frowned and looked her up and down, eyes lingering on her stomach. “I’m guessing _you’re_ Clarke.” He smiled at her. “It’s nice to finally meet you.” He stuck out his hand, a little awkwardly. “My name’s Lincoln. I’m Lexa’s cousin. She – uh, she gave me a key.”

Clarke stared at him for a moment, before leaning forward and shaking his hand. She’d heard enough about Lincoln to know that he was the one member of the Woods Clan that Lexa actually got on well with, that he was a good guy. Clarke privately wondered whether all of the Woods were unnervingly attractive.

“I didn’t mean to barge in on you,” Lincoln said, raising his palms placatingly, still offering that warm smile. “I thought I’d be able to catch Lex before she went to work, but I guess I missed her.”

“Yeah,” Clarke said slowly, still staring. “She left not too long ago. Is it anything I can help with?”

“Probably not,” Lincoln shrugged, “It’s just some legal documents I wanted her to take a look at.” He shuffled a little awkwardly. “I’m sorry I bothered you.”

“It’s fine, really,” Clarke said, smiling back. “I’m actually glad I got to meet you. Lexa speaks highly of you.”

“Likewise,” Lincoln chuckled, and Clarke tried to ignore the little explosion of happiness she felt. “I was honestly worried the baby would be born without any of us ever getting to meet you.” Clarke walked back inside with Lincoln, frowning a little. It was grating to think that her role in Lexa’s life really was going to be that fleeting – she was here, she’d have the baby, and then she’d be gone again. She looked up to see Lincoln smiling at her.

“What?”

Lincoln smiled and shook his head. “Nothing. Just, seeing you in person is weird.”

Clarke’s brow furrowed. “Why?”

“I dunno,” Lincoln shrugged. “You’re going to think this sounds ridiculous, but Lexa is pretty different since all this.” He huffed a short laugh. “Since you.”

Clarke blinked up at him, not quite knowing how to respond to that. Lexa had, of course, seemed less cold and distant the longer Clarke knew her, but she had assumed that was all by virtue of the process of breaking down the other woman’s walls. Had she been that much changed? Octavia’s voice from months ago echoed in her memory: ‘ _She’s been pretty mellow lately.’_ She had been talking about her boss. She had been talking about Lexa. “Seriously?”

“You have no idea,” Lincoln laughed. “She’d kill me if she knew I told her, but I think you’re a good influence. Honestly, any kind of friendships she can make are a good influence.”

 _Friendship,_ Clarke thought with an internal scoff. “I’m glad to hear I can be of use,” she joked. Glancing down, she prodded her stomach gently. “Apart from the obvious, of course.”

“How far along are you?” Lincoln wondered, peering over at her curiously. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

Clarke shrugged. “20 weeks. Still not far along enough for people to offer me their seats on buses, sadly.”

Lincoln laughed. “Yeah, you’re barely showing.”

“Liar.” Clarke chuckled. She was noticeably pregnant now, to the extent she couldn’t wear many of her old clothes. The last time she’d been for an ultrasound at the doctors, the ‘little critter,’ as she’d been calling it, was notably human looking, curled up with tiny little limbs. It was a bizarre thought – but she was going to have another twenty weeks to get through to come to terms with it.

“I’m trying to be polite,” Lincoln said defensively. “What have your friends said?”

Clarke was silent.

“You... you have told people, right?” Lincoln’s eyebrows rose. “I mean, not that it’s any of my business, really, but – “

“No, I’m gonna tell them.” Clarke said uncertainly. “It’s just...” She had no idea what it was. She hadn’t told Octavia or Wells or Bellamy anything about her surrogacy because, well she could hide it up until now – blame the sickness on bad seafood and tell them she had had a big lunch if she happened to be feeling particularly bloated. And, honestly, she hadn’t told them because her life had been one big maelstrom of chaos and insanity, and how could she have truthfully looked any of her friends in the eye and told them that yes, she was a surrogate, and yes, she had everything completely under control. What’s more – when she first made the big surrogacy decision, she didn’t even have any friends – just Finn.

Clarke looked down at the ground with a small smile. Maybe it wasn’t just Lexa who had been changed by this whole experience.

“Again, it’s none of my business, and it’s your decision,” Lincoln said, gentler. “But, I think you should tell the people you’re close to.” he shrugged.

“I will,” Clarke said firmly.

Lincoln nodded, smiling. He glanced over at the clock and frowned. “Huh, I should be moving if I gotta stop by Lexa’s office to give her this stuff.” Shooting Clarke another one of those wide, charming smiles that Clarke felt would have most girls smitten at once, he walked over to the door, pulling it open. Pausing, he looked back, face serious all of a sudden. “By the way – are you coming to the big Christmas do at Anya’s?”

Clarke blinked. “Lexa invited me this morning. I said I’d go.”

Lincoln nodded grimly.

Clarke raised an eyebrow. “You’re not reassuring me.”

Lincoln waved a careless hand. “Oh, you’ll be fine.” He hesitated, looking concerned. “Just – just know that my family means well, okay? They’re good people. Y’know. In their hearts and stuff. They just... don’t come across that way. And I mean, Lexa’ll be there, I’ll be there, you won’t be completely alone in the lions den. You’ll be fine. Don’t worry about it.”

“Nothing you’re saying is putting me at ease,” Clarke informed him.

He chuckled. “I promise you’ll be fine. See you around?”

“Definitely,” Clarke smiled. She liked Lincoln. He seemed easy going, and a genuinely nice guy. In truth, he sounded like the only reasonably sane one in Lexa’s family. When Lexa had given her the rundown on her family, she’d catalogued every name into her memory. If she was going to be going to this Christmas party with this family, she was particularly glad she’d taken so much care to remember them. From what Lexa had said, it was Indra that she needed to be particularly careful around. Anya sounded okay. Okay enough, that Clarke thought she might be able to get along well with her. And at this point, Clarke was only really able to count the Woods family members she thought she’d be able to get along with on one hand.

She couldn’t worry about that now, though, because there was something far bigger to be concerned with. Something she knew she should have done a while ago. Taking out of her phone, she scrolled through her contacts and clicked a name. Pressing the phone to her ear, she took a deep breath before a voice sounded at the other end.

“Hey, C. What’s up?”

“O,” Clarke said slowly. “Do you think we could meet up for lunch? I kinda want to tell you something.”

 

* * * * *

 

“Pregnant.”

“Pregnant.” Clarke stared at Octavia across the coffee shop table, and she would have laughed at the sheer disbelief on Octavia’s face were she not already incredibly nervous.

Octavia stared straight at her, mouth hanging ajar. “You’re not serious.”

“I’m serious.” Clarke wasn’t quite sure how she expected this conversation to go.

“It...” Octavia looked vaguely horrified, and leaned forward to whisper as though saying it softer would make it less horrendous. “It’s _Finn’s,_ right?”

“No!” Clarke cut in quickly, cursing herself for not leading with this. “No, it’s not Finn’s. It’s not mine either, really.”

Octavia looked aghast. “Clarke, honey, did no one ever give you ‘The Talk?’ See, because you’re the one who’s pregnant, it’s automatically your – “

“I’m a surrogate,” Clarke interrupted. “It’s my baby until it’s born, and then it gets handed off.”

Octavia stared at her, eyes narrowing. Sure, it had been a long time since college, but Clarke still liked to think that she still knew her friend pretty well – right now, it was clear the cogs were turning in Octavia’s mind, thoughts stringing together into logical order. It wasn’t long before her eyes widened. “Woods. It’s Woods. You’re having Woods’ baby. You’re Lexa’s surrogate!”

Clarke opened her mouth, and closed it again. Finally she shrugged. “Yeah.”

“I _knew_ it,” Octavia laughed triumphantly. “Someone caught her scrolling baby clothes websites in her office, we’ve had a bet going for months.”

“You did not,” Clarke said in disbelief.

“We did,” Octavia crowed. “I had twenty bucks on Woods becoming a mom. Should have raised it to fifty.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Clarke shook her head.

“I never kid about office bets,” Octavia said, perfectly seriously. “A couple of the guys bet that she was pregnant, but I knew that was too specific – the ol’ witch hadn’t put on any weight - ”

“Please don’t call her that,” Clarke groaned.

Octavia clapped her hands together. “Mama’s gettin’ _paid,_ Clarke!”

“I’m serious!” Clarke said. “Don’t let Lexa find out about this bet, okay!? She’s a good person okay, better than she seems. She’s...” she shrugged. “She’s one of the best people I know. She’s better than some stupid bet.”

Octavia leaned across the table, peering closely at Clarke, who leaned back. The dark haired girl’s eyes narrowed. “Oh my god.”

Clarke winced. “No.”

“Oh my _god.”_

“No.”

“You’ve got it bad for Lexa.” Octavia shook her head gravely. “I’ve seen this before, Griffin, I know what you look like when you’re smitten.”

“I am _not_ smitten.”

“You are,” Octavia said, her voice rising with glee. “You are, and it’s even better because you’re in denial. Oh C, this is incredible. _Lexa._ Of all people, you had to fall for the commander.”

“The what?”

Octavia shrugged, smiling. “Just an office nickname. Not a bad one!” She added, seeing Clarke’s expression. “Actually, I think she knows about it and kinda likes it.” She leaned forward to squeeze Clarke’s hands with a small, soft smile, the playful glee having left her face. “But seriously, C. I can tell when you’re happy. And if this thing, this whole situation, is making you happy, as weird as it seems to me, then I’m happy too.” She shrugged, looking away. “I’ve missed you all this time - always wondered what you were doing, always wanted to get back in contact. It’s nice to have the dynamic duo back together.”

Clarke stood up and, bulging stomach be damned, walked around the table to pull Octavia into a tight hug.

 

* * * * *

 

The next stop on Clarke’s tour of truthfulness was the gallery which, brick by brick, was actually starting to look like a gallery. Most of the debris had been cleared away, and the carpenters laying the timber floors were there already, laying panel after panel of dark wooden floorboard. There were even more builders on the roof, finishing off the fixes for the holes up there. Wells, last time Clarke had been here, had mentioned something about getting a glazier in to look at the skylights, see if the glass up there was okay, or whether it would have to be replaced. Privately, Clarke thought that the more stuff they replaced in the old warehouse, the better a gallery they’d have.

She had to dodge through a maze of builders walking around the site before she got to sit down and have an identical conversation with Octavia with Wells, Bellamy and Murphy. Murphy, to his credit as an apathetic weirdo, didn’t care in the slightest. Really, he looked annoyed that she’d interrupted what they were doing on the construction site.

Wells had been stunned, immediately babbling. (“You mean right now? You’re pregnant right now? Like, it’s in there now? And you’re – you’ve gotta give it over, what, right after it’s born? Wow, Clarke, I mean... congratulations, I guess? It’s good news, right? Man, that’s incredible. Geez. Good for you, Clarke.”)

Bellamy had stared at her, slack jawed, in an impressive imitation of his sister. Once he’d overcome his eventual shock, though, his concern for Clarke took a front seat. (“Are you alright to be on the construction site? I think you should take it easy around here from now on. God, Clarke, you should have told us earlier, you didn’t need to help out so much on the site.”)

“When are you gonna have it?” Wells asked, with an air of bewilderment. “Are – are you gonna have it before the exhibition?”

“Nope. It’ll be close, though. Due date’s a couple weeks after the exhibition.” Clarke answered.

Wells nodded, looking grim.

She went for a walk through the site with Bellamy, only just managing to persuade him that no, she didn’t need to wear a dust mask, and no, she wasn’t going to trip over something on the site and hurt herself. It irked her to be treated like an invalid – she was only 20 weeks along after all. Bellamy seemed to understand this before too long, to her relief. “Does Octavia know?” He asked her.

“Just told her.” Clarke answered with a smile. “She took it – well.” _As well as anyone who just won a bet might take something,_ she thought with a chuckle.

Bellamy smiled back. “I’m glad you guys found each other again. It’s just like old times, huh?” He hesitated.

“No,” Clarke said. “Not quite. Old times felt different. Everything was different back then.”

Bellamy eyed her. “You wish you could go back to those times?”

Clarke shielded her eyes from the sun with a hand, looking around the construction site. “I never said that.”

 

* * * * *

 

Clarke took the bus home as the sun was beginning to set. She travelled on the bus so seldom these days, it felt almost like a novelty. The people didn’t bother her as much, the noise and smell weren’t quite so bad. She put her headphones in and leaned against the window, staring out at the city beyond, her mind straying back to the soft, comfy couch back at the apartment.

That was a new feeling. Looking forward to getting home.

She could blame the feeling on the happy hormones she was sure were coursing through her at this point, but she couldn’t help the feeling that she was slowly waking up from a decade-long nap. Her life had fallen into a new kind of vibrancy – everything was a bit happier, a bit more exciting. The long years she’d spent in grungey apartments with Finn felt like she’d been drifting through life, just surviving, just living from day to day on nothing at all. Even just basic, mundane things like wondering what the weather was going to be like tomorrow felt like revelations – after years of not caring what happened, whether it was raining or snowing or sunny and hot, she suddenly cared about these kind of things. She cared about a lot of things now that she didn’t years ago. She cared about people, the way she hardly ever had. She cared about Octavia, about Bellamy and Wells and, sure, she even spared a thought or two for Murphy. And she cared about Lexa, god did she care about Lexa. Maybe too much.

Clarke took the elevator up to the apartment, waving cheerfully at the concierge at the foyer, who waved back. She remembered that he had once sneered at her when she’d first come here. Maybe he’d changed too.

She used her own key to get into the apartment, immediately noticing the post it note stuck on the bench. Plucking it up to look it, she frowned. _HAVE A LATE MEETING. SEE YOU LATER TONIGHT ~ L_

“Just you and me, critter,” Clarke sighed in the vague direction of her stomach, feeling distinctly disappointed. When Lexa had a late meeting, Clarke would generally wait up, finding some movie to watch until the dark haired woman arrived home. Throwing the post it note in the trash, she made to walk to her room and get changed.

She went out to the balcony afterwards, to sit and draw. She drew until the sunlight had completely left the street, and kept drawing right up until she saw the headlights of Lexa’s car turn down the street. She only went to bed after sitting with Lexa while the other woman ate dinner, telling her about how boring the guy she’d had the meeting with was. Lexa asked her how her day was, and Clarke told her.

It was only after going back to her own room, sitting down on the bed and feeling the warmth radiate inside her that it really hit.

When it came to Lexa, Clarke really was fucked.

 


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter - It's Christmas! Gift-giving, family drama and inappropriateness with surrogates - the usual Christmas fare, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N - This chapter's a really special one to me, I hope you all enjoy it too, and don't feel like it was too rushed.  
> Your comments are a real highlight, I really love hearing what you think about the story - it makes me kind of nervous, I hope the ending lives up to the kind words you've all been saying so far <3

 

 

_CHAPTER THIRTEEN_

As Christmas approached, Lexa decided that the entire ‘Family-Christmas-at-Anya’s’ was a completely terrible idea. Bringing Clarke with her had been an even worse one. The entire affair had set her nerves to breaking point.

But Anya had called her last week, and told Lexa that she should bring “that girl. The surrogate,” along to the party, and Lexa had tentatively agreed. It was probably more an opportunity for her sisters to interfere in her life a bit more, but Clarke had agreed to come easily enough. Maybe Clarke would agree to go anywhere with Lexa – it would certainly be true were their places switched. Lexa would probably follow Clarke around like a puppy dog. She almost wished Clarke had refused to come to the Christmas Party. That would have been easy. Then Clarke wouldn’t have to suffer through the snide comments and judgemental looks of her family over a long and tedious dinner, during which no one _really_ enjoyed one another’s company. They were only brought together by a familial bond that none of them could help, and only came to gauge one another’s career and financial success.

Lexa loved her family most of the time, sure, but she could be absolutely certain that they were going to tear her apart like a pack of wild dogs with a scrap of meat.

Clarke herself seemed barely fazed by the impending Christmas party. She mentioned it once over the past week, when she asked what the dress code was. Formal, of course. Everything in the Woods family was stiff, formal, proper.

Christmas Eve, at least, was a relaxed affair. Normally Lexa would watch TV and maybe try and get some work done, but this year was different. It could all be put down to Clarke, of course. Clarke had taken it upon herself to saturate the apartment with as much Christmas cheer as she could possibly fit in. Christmas lights were draped across walls and furniture, illuminating the apartment in vivid reds and greens. She’d found a plastic Christmas tree and decorations at a second hand store, and decorated it with as many gaudy baubles and tacky hanging decorations as she could. Lexa had come home one night to it and almost died of shock. Clarke had been pleased, with both the decorations and Lexa’s own aghast look of shock as she’d walked through the door.

Christmas Eve, though, was a quiet affair. They sat watching movies for most of the evening, creeping closer and closer together on the couch until they were basically leaning against one another. These were the kind of interactions they didn’t mention, didn’t acknowledge. Even though Lexa was restraining herself from grinning widely at the warm presence pressed against her side. Even stronger was her self-control preventing her from putting an arm around the blonde girl, from pulling her even closer.

As the evening wore on, though, Lexa’s concern about the Christmas party returned full force. As the credits of _The Grinch_ started to roll, she turned to Clarke uneasily. “Hey – uh – you know the Christmas Party?”

“I know of it,” Clarke said, amused. “What about it?”

“It’s – uh –“ She opened her mouth and closed it again, trying to find the words to say that would possibly put her nerves at ease. Did those words even exist. “I feel – um – I feel like I should probably warn you about – “

“Your family? Clarke cut in. “You know, the more I hear about them, the more they sound like characters in a horror movie. Vampires or something. I’m sure they’re not so bad.” She said easily. “I met Lincoln and he was fine, right?”

“Lincoln’s different,” Lexa said seriously. “Lincoln’s a black sheep.”

Clarke’s brow furrowed thoughtfully. “I thought you were the black sheep.”

“No,” Lexa thought for a moment. “I’m a white sheep with a few black speckles.”

Clarke laughed, her eyes lighting up. “You’re ruining the symbolism.” She sat up a little, twisting in the couch to face Lexa. “Look, I can tell you’re worried, and if you’re worried about me, you really shouldn’t be. _I’m_ not worried, even after everything I’ve heard about these people. They’re just _people,_ Lexa. I can talk to people, I do it every day at work.”

“Those aren’t the same kind of people, Clarke,” Lexa argued. “These are... they’re rich people.”

“Rich people are people too.” Clarke reminded her, smiling.

“Debatable,” Lexa allowed, but shook herself. “Look, all I’m trying to say is that they’re going to be saying things to you, and you’ll be saying things back –“

“That’s generally how a conversation works,”

“- and I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable, because what they say is not just...” Lexa struggled for words for a moment. “There’s always an ulterior motive with these people, and most of them mean well – well, maybe a _few_ of them mean well, but it’s going to feel like they’re always judging, always finding faults, it’s what they do – “

Clarke put a hand on Lexa’s leg, and she pretty much forgot anything she was going to say. “Lexa,” she said clearly. “I’ll be fine.”

Lexa let out a low, disbelieving grumbling noise, and Clarke laughed. She got up, still chuckling, and walked over to the kitchen. Lexa stood up and followed her. “It’s not that I don’t think you can handle it, it’s – it’s just –“ She huffed in frustration. “I don’t want them to make you uncomfortable because, I mean, they have a knack for that, and I – “ She stopped talking, staring at Clarke. “What are you doing?”

Clarke froze where she was, reaching up into the freezer and pulling out the ice tray. She had an ice cube in her fingers and was halfway to her mouth. Her brows furrowed in annoyance. “Can I not want some ice without it being weird?”

Lexa watched as Clarke popped the cube in her mouth and crunched it. “Of all the bizarre cravings – “

“I just like the crunch,” Clarke shrugged, putting the ice tray back into the freezer. “Believe me, ice is not usually on the menu. I’d give anything to crave chocolate cake or cookies, and yet still I wake up in the middle of the night just to come eat ice, of all things.” She leaned against the bench, crossing her arms. “But back to your little Christmas Party panic attack, I know you’re going to spend all night worrying, so I’m just gonna tell you now – I’ll be fine.”

“But – “

“I’ll. Be. Fine.” Clarke smiled. “I deal with rude, entitled people all the time at work. Your family will be a breeze.” She started to walk towards the hall. “I’m gonna turn in. I’m tired. And it sounds like I’ll need to be at full strength for this party.”

“Clarke,” Lexa said, and maybe she was thinking of saying something else about the Christmas party, or about her family, but she stopped herself. Instead, she plucked a cup from the cupboard and opened the freezer to pour some cubes of ice into it. She walked over to where Clarke was standing and handed her the cup. “Here.” She said. “So you don’t have to get up in the middle of the night.”

Clarke grinned, and leaned up, before Lexa could even prepare herself, to give her a peck on the cheek. “Merry Christmas, Lex.” She said, before taking the cup and disappearing down the hall.

Lexa had to take a moment to compose herself, embarrassingly. So what if her skin tingled where Clarke’s lips had pressed against it, even only just for a moment. So what. She was an adult who wasn’t affected by childish crushes. Lexa heaved a sigh, and threw herself down on the couch.

She knew it was a lie, but given that she’d been spending all of Christmas Eve trying to convince herself that Clarke would be just fine at this Christmas party, it wasn’t the biggest lie she’d told herself today.

 

* * * * *

 

Christmas dawned with a sharp chill in the air. It had been a relatively warm winter so far, but it seemed like a cold change was sweeping through the city. The air was crisp and cold outside, where people’s breaths were spurts of steam, but inside the apartment, it was toasty warm. Lexa woke up slowly, without realising it was Christmas. Honestly, she hadn’t been excited about Christmas since she was very young.

She’d done the Christmas shopping for her family a while back. Books and gift certificates mostly, nothing too personal or emotive. Gifts, according to many of her family members, were an opportunity to give something useful and constructive to someone you care about. She still remembered with vague bitterness the year she’d gotten a maths textbook and an old book documenting Legal cases in a little colonial town. She recalled that Indra had been given an abacus that year. Anya took the cake for worst present though, receiving a pair of gloves and a road map of New York from a distant cousin. They were happier times, when she and Anya had hidden in a cupboard throughout the entire Christmas party, and dared each other to steal food from the kitchen without being caught.

Now, though, the recent Christmases had been somewhat less merry. Their parents weren’t there, for one thing. For another, they were grown up now, and as tempting as it was, they weren’t going to be able to hide in a cupboard for the duration of the party. She doubted Anya would even want to now, she seemed to enjoy these family gatherings as much as any of them now.

It would also be different this time, of course, because Clarke would be there. A cat amongst the pigeons.

Lexa woke slowly on Christmas day. There was a clatter from somewhere in the apartment, and she sat up in bed, frowning. Pulling a sweater on over her pyjamas, she walked down the hall and out into the lounge room, blinking against the light coming through the glass sliding doors that led to the balcony. Clarke smiled over at her from the kitchen, where she was pouring what looked like chocolate chip pancake batter into a pan. “Merry Christmas!” She beamed.

“Merry Christmas,” Lexa laughed. “What’s this?”

“Pancakes!” Clarke said, delighted. “Before he died, my dad used to make me pancakes for breakfast every Christmas.”

“It smells good,” Lexa allowed, leaning up against the bench and watching the blonde poke at one of the pancakes she’d poured with a spatula.

“Do you want your present now, or after breakfast?” Clarke asked innocently.

Lexa blinked. “You - ?”

“Of course I did,” Clarke scoffed. “It’s _Christmas,_ Lexa.”

Smiling, Lexa shrugged a shoulder. “Now then, I guess. I’m intrigued.”

“Impatient,” Clarke teased, but leaned the spatula up against the pan. She wiped her hands on the front of the tank top she used as pyjamas and nodded at the stove. “Watch this while I go get it?”

Lexa got up to stand by the stove as Clarke trotted down the hall, whistling cheerfully. Lexa watched her go, smiling. Of course, Lexa had gotten Clarke a Christmas present as well and, what’s more, it didn’t even take much thought to come up with. She liked to think she knew Clarke well enough that gift-giving was a breeze. It was a nice change, getting someone a present because she genuinely thought they would enjoy it, and to show her affection, rather than getting someone a present out of obligation.

Clarke appeared again, her hands behind her back. Lexa laughed. “I’m in suspense here.”

The blonde haired girl walked over and revealed a poorly wrapped package, about the size of a shoebox. Lexa’s brow furrowed as she picked at the wrapping, carefully pulling it apart until she was holding a pair of objects in her hands. The first was a pack of scented candles. The cheap kind, but worth more than Clarke should have spent. She smiled, and was about to thank Clarke, but the other thing in her hands caught her attention. A small book, hardbound and a little scrappy looking, Lexa put down the candles to open it up.

It was filled, every inch, with sketches and drawings. Some were in lead, others in charcoal, some in colour, some even in watercolour. Lexa fell silent as she flipped through them. Some of the little images she recognised, like the distinctive sight of the street outside her apartment in the dappled light of sunrise (Lexa wondered when Clarke had gotten up early to draw it,) and the park where they’d met that time after the interview. Others included Lexa’s own lounge room, and places she’d never seen before – landscapes and people and animals and places that were straight out of Clarke’s mind. Lexa had seen Clarke’s paintings, and they were incredible – but her drawings were something else entirely. Descriptive and evocative with minimal lines and scratches of the lead. They captured exactly what they needed to in the perfect amount of linework. The slightest mark of a pencil described the light of a lamp falling on a chair, or the way a roughly sketched bird’s wing seemed constantly in motion.

She caught sight of a few fragments of a face every now and then, and when she saw her own eyes staring back at her from the paper, she felt as though her heart might just burst out of her chest.

When she looked up, impossibly, Clarke was looking almost embarrassed. “I know it’s nothing special,” she said hastily. “But I filled that sketchbook while I was living here, so...” she shrugged awkwardly. “I don’t know why, but – uh – I thought you could have it.”

“I love it,” Lexa said, realising that she didn’t really know of any words to say that would accurately communicate how perfect a present this was. “It’s incredible Clarke.” She shook her head. “I – thank you. I really love it.”

Clarke looked away, grinning, with a reddish glow spreading across her cheeks. “Okay, okay, it’s just a few drawings,” She said, embarrassed.

“And actually,” Lexa said slowly, “this makes my gift to you quite appropriate.”

Clarke frowned at her. “You didn’t have to get me anything.”

Lexa just shot her a withering look, walking over to the cabinet in the lounge room and opening up one of the cupboard compartments. She pulled out a pair of parcels, wrapped in simple brown paper. The first one was just as tall as she was, the other considerably smaller. When she looked over at the other woman, Clarke was looking horrified.

“What did you do!?” she said, aghast.

“Just open them,” Lexa said.

“I swear to god, if you’ve spent ridiculous amounts of money on me I’m throwing you off the balcony,” Clarke came over and sat cross legged on the floor to pull the biggest of the parcels toward her. She looked so young, eyes bright with excitement, and it made Lexa want to laugh. She tore into the paper carefully, respectfully, until she was unveiling a simple wooden A-Frame easel. Her eyes lit up as she looked over it, running her fingers over the wood and appreciating it as only Clarke could. “I haven’t had one of these since I was in college,” she said with a small smile.

The other parcel contained a set of paints – good, top notch paints that, the man at the art store had assured Lexa, were professional quality. They came in a wooden box, along with a set of brushes, set up neatly in a velvet inset. Clarke stared at them long and hard, running a finger over the tubes of paint, and picking up one of the brushes to examine it. Lexa kneeled down on the floor next to her, watching her carefully. When Clarke turned to face her, she wasn’t smiling or laughing. Her eyes were burning with that bright, unnameable _something_ that set Lexa’s heart to beating a little faster.

“Thank you,” Clarke said quietly. She held Lexa’s gaze. “I... Just... Just thank you.”

Lexa smiled. “You’re very welcome.”

Moving forward, Clarke pulled Lexa into a tight hug, her arms winding around Lexa and a chin resting on her shoulder. “You know,” Clarke said quietly. “I have a lot to thank you for.”

Lexa hugged her back, burying her nose in Clarke’s hair and inhaling the smell there. She resisted the urge to close her eyes, content. “Likewise.”

“It’s not the same.” Clarke said seriously. “Every good thing that’s happened to me in the past few months have all been because of you.”

Lexa’s brow furrowed. “No.” She said as she pulled back, holding onto Clarke’s shoulders. “I refuse to let you think that.”

Clarke eyed her with a frown. “It’s true, though. The gallery, everything – it’s because of you.”

“Clarke,” Lexa said clearly. “I have had the pleasure of knowing you well for the past six months, and I can say with complete and utter honesty that even if you had never met me, you would still be about to open a gallery and put on an exhibition. You would still be happy, you would still be doing everything you can do to get where you want to go.” Lexa exhaled slowly. “Because you’re the most resilient and driven person I know, Clarke, and I refuse to let you pin the good things that happen to you on other people. You deserve every good thing that happens to you, because you fought for it.”

Clarke was staring at her, wide blue eyes way too close. Her breath was ticklish on the skin of Lexa’s face, and that treacherous voice in the back of Lexa’s mind reminded her just how _easy_ it would be to just lean forward those few inches and let their lips meet. She was getting lost in the blue expanses of the other girl’s eyes, and that kind of thing had always seemed like a corny cliché until she’d actually spent any time studying how bright and blue and perfect Clarke’s eyes were. She swallowed hard, getting the distinct feeling that they were both leaning forward, and that everything was moving in slow motion.

_REEEEEEEEEE!!_

Lexa looked up as the fire alarms started to scream - a piercing, shrieking sound that echoed throughout the apartment. Glancing back at the kitchen, a thin plume of smoke was wafting up from the stove. Clarke laughed.

“I think we burned the pancakes,” she laughed.

 

* * * * *

 

They pulled up at Anya’s apartment building at exactly ten past six. Anya had told Lexa that people should start arriving at six, and that dinner would be served at seven sharp. Many a family member had been ostracised for arriving late to dinner – it wasn’t something you could just live down.

“Your sister lives _here?!”_ Clarke said incredulously. She looked the old building up and down, impressed. “It’s beautiful.”

Lexa stared up at the upper levels nervously. “It’s nice,” she allowed. She looked over at where Clarke was sitting in the passenger seat of the car. She had been going to wear the same dress she’d worn to the Grounder for the first time all those weeks ago – it was maybe Lexa’s favourite thing that Clarke wore – but to Clarke’s dismay, it didn’t fit. Her stomach simply refused to oblige, and she’d had to go with a dress with a looser fit. Lexa swallowed hard, staring at her passenger. “It’s not too late to run.”

Clarke raised an eyebrow, frowning. “You can do what you like. I’m hungry. Been looking forward to Christmas dinner all day.” She opened the car door and, well, that was that.

They took the elevator up in silence, Lexa starting to feel more and more ill. Anya was going to be in there, along with every other member of the Woods family. Along with Indra. At least Lincoln was going to be there – she was going to need the backup.

She knocked on Anya’s apartment door with her heart beating in her throat. She felt Clarke reach over to squeeze her hand, but it didn’t do enough to alleviate the pit of dread in her stomach. It was only a moment before Anya herself opened the door, looking delighted when she saw who it was.

“Lex!” She said, smiling. “It’s good to see you again,” She moved forward to pull Lexa into a hug, and Lexa couldn’t help smiling a little. Even if Anya had become more of a Woods as time had worn on, they were still sisters.

But then Anya was looking over at Clarke, smiling politely, and Lexa felt all the nerves return. “Anya, this is Clarke Griffin,” she said. “Clarke, this is my sister Anya.”

Clarke beamed, and lean forward to kiss Anya’s cheek. “It’s great to finally meet you, Anya.”

“Likewise,” Anya said, politely but warmly. Whatever subconcious test that Anya had been putting Clarke through, the blonde girl seemed to have passed, because Anya’s smile was genuine as she invited them in. “Most of us are already here,” she said, mainly to Lexa. “You should go and talk to Uncle Titus, he’s been asking about you. And Grandmother, too. Oh, and try and keep an eye on Lincoln – he’s already into the wine.”

Lexa swallowed hard, nodding. The wide foyer area of the apartment was filled with around 25 familiar faces, members of the Woods family young and old milling around in clothes far too formal for any family gathering. They spoke in small groups and pairs, and Lexa’s eyes ran over them one by one. Apparently Indra wasn’t here yet. Or maybe she was in the kitchen. She couldn’t worry about that now though, because Clarke was standing at her side, and some of the family had already started to notice them.

“Nervous yet?” Lexa murmured.

Clarke thought for a moment. “Tentative,” she said carefully. “Not nervous.” She seemed to spot something across the room. “Mm. Appetizers.” She started forward, and Lexa could only stare in disbelief as Clarke waded headfirst, alone, into the sea of unfamiliar faces, some of whom watched her curiously as she walked by, a flash of blonde in the sea of dark brown.

Lexa started to follow her, definitely worried about the idea of leaving Clarke unattended, but was instantly accosted as soon as she set foot into the room. Uncle Titus, a tall bald man who seemed to have a perpetual frown, herded her over to a small party that included her grandmother, a few aunts, and a petulant looking Lincoln. Lincoln quirked an eyebrow at her in greeting, and took a deep sip of his glass of red wine. “Alexandria,” her grandmother croaked. “I’m glad you’re here, you don’t visit nearly enough – what’s this I heard from Anya about you having a baby?”

Lexa took a deep breath. “Yes, I’m having a child. Through a surrogate.”

The general assembly tittered with interest. Uncle Titus’ frown deepened. “A _surrogate?_ Is that who that woman you’ve brought is?”

Lexa steeled herself. “Her name is Clarke.”

Uncle Titus was about to say something else, eyes narrowing, but her grandmother cut in suddenly. “I think it’s wonderful, Alexandria. Your mother would be letting off fireworks were she here.”

Taken aback, Lexa didn’t quite know what to say to that. “I – thankyou.”

“If you ask me,” her grandmother sniffed. “This family could use some new blood – it’s been so long since Anya had her boys, and this one –“ she jerked her head in Lincoln’s general direction. “- isn’t showing any signs of settling down yet.”

Lincoln took another deep swig of his wine to prevent himself from talking. Lexa smiled at him, and they managed to pull away from the conversation while Uncle Titus and her grandmother were getting into an argument on the merits of surrogacy.

“Where’s Clarke?” Lincoln murmured as they leaned against a wall in a corner, mercifully inconspicuous.

“I have no idea,” Lexa huffed, looking around. “She went skipping off into shark infested waters as soon as we got here.”

“Brave girl,” Lincoln mumbled darkly.

Lexa eyed his nearly empty wine glass. “How’s the season treating you?” she asked tentatively.

Lincoln rolled his eyes. “I’ve been asked if I have a girlfriend by no less than three aunts, two uncles and a cousin I swear to god I’ve never met.” He scowled. “I have no idea why my love life is everyone’s business, but it’s driving me insane.”

Lexa plucked the wine glass out of his hands. “Once a year, Lincoln. Once a year. You only have to suffer through it once a year.”

“Not everyone’s suffering,” Lincoln said, eyebrows raised, as he nodded over at something across the room.

Lexa turned and shook her head in disbelief as she took in the sight of one of her aunts and uncles standing having what looked like a pleasant conversation with Clarke. Clarke, while looking vaguely bored, didn’t seem like she was having a dreadful time. Which, all things considered, exceeded Lexa’s expectations exponentially. “She’s unbelievable,” Lexa said, shaking her head.

“Just keep her away from Uncle Titus and you should be home safe,” Lincoln said with a small chuckle.

Lexa looked up at him. “Have you seen Indra?”

Lincoln thought for a moment. “Not yet. She’s probably not far away.”

Pushing off from the wall, Lexa smiled grimly at Lincoln. “I should bail Clarke out. Stay away from the wine.”

“I promise nothing.”

There was a spark of gratefulness in Clarke’s eyes when Lexa appeared in the conversation. Her aunt and uncle moved on not long after that, and Clarke’s relief was palpable. She was drinking a cup of water with an obscene amount of ice in it. Lexa stood next to her and plucked the ice out of her own drink, dropping it into Clarke’s cup.

“Thanks.” Clarke murmured. “How are you coping?”

“Surprisingly well,” Lexa allowed. “It’s not as awful as I thought it was going to be.” She turned to Clarke. “How are _you_ coping?”

“Fine,” Clarke shrugged. “You went on about your family so much I kind of expected them to be ragingly aggressive sociopaths – I’m a little disappointed, honestly.” She added playfully.

“It’s early days yet,” Lexa teased. “There could still be a brawl or something. Would you like that?”

Clarke poked her tongue out at Lexa, and she was about to laugh, but something across the room had caught her eye. Indra had just walked in, with another woman right behind her. Lexa strained up on her tip-toes to see the face of Indra’s companion, because it didn’t look like her daughter. The woman, whoever she was, was obscured by the bodies of other family members as she and Indra made their way into the room. They spent a few moments talking to a suddenly disgruntled looking Anya, and Lexa was beginning to feel a pit of dread form in her stomach.

Clarke sensed her unease. “Hey, you okay?” she asked gently.

“Um,” Lexa said distractedly. Indra and her friend were making their way over to where she and Clarke were standing, wading their way through the people to walk across the room. When they got closer, Lexa’s eyes fell on the face of the woman Indra was with, and there was a spark of recognition in her moments before her blood ran cold. Memories from so long ago were suddenly fresh in her mind, and she felt like she was frozen to the spot, her eyes widening.

“Lexa,” Indra said, beaming, when she got close. “I’m so glad you’re here already – you remember the surprise I was telling you about on the phone?” She gestured to her companion, as though this was meant to be some big reveal, a massive delightful surprise. In reality, it made Lexa feel distinctly ill.

“Hello Lexa,” Costia said, pushing dark hair out of her eyes to stare at Lexa carefully. “It’s good to see you again.”

“What is this?” Lexa shot at Indra, her eyes hard and cold, her voice low and cracking.

Indra blinked. “I thought it would be a nice surprise. I’ve been working with Costia in the last big merger, and I thought it would be nice for you two to catch up, so I invited her to Christmas Dinner.”

Lexa stared at Indra, swallowing hard. “You didn’t think that would be at all inappropriate?” Her voice was dangerously icy now. She felt Clarke shift nervously beside her.

Indra’s eyes narrowed. “Jesus, Alexandria, not everything is an attack on you. I thought this would be a nice surprise. I was trying to do something nice for you.”

Costia eyed the two of them with unease. “I didn’t realise this would be a problem, Indra. I didn’t mean to cause anything.”

“Its fine,” Indra growled, still glaring at Lexa. “My sister is just being childish.” Lexa all but snarled, and Indra rolled her eyes. “ _Honestly,_ Lexa. I thought seeing Costia again would be a nice distraction, I know how close the two of you were. And besides, you’ve been so off the rails lately, I just wanted to help you forget about this baby nonsense.”

There was a few moments of silence, and Lexa was vaguely aware that she was shaking. “ _What?”_ she hissed. A few family members nearby glanced over at the noise, and Indra looked mutinous.

“You’re causing a scene, Alexandria,” Indra snapped. “And you’re being immature. I mean, honestly. You can’t still think this baby business is a good idea. Some people just aren’t meant to be parents. We tried to tell you that your life didn’t need that kind of mess, and you didn’t listen.”

Lexa advanced a few steps, jerking her arm free when Clarke made to hold her back. “Maybe you shouldn’t be doling out parenting advice. Where’s Soncha, Indra? Your daughter didn’t even want to fly in to see you for Christmas?”

Indra had slapped Lexa before either woman could really register what was going on. Now the family members standing around _definitely_ knew something was happening. They tittered and murmured to one another as the two half-sisters faced off, staring at one another intently. Lexa’s cheek burned where she’d been slapped, and her eyes were wide with shock.

Lexa felt something pushing at her side. “Time to go,” Clarke said quietly. Lexa let herself be shoved through the small crowd of loved ones.

As they worked their way through the crowd, Lexa still seething, Anya reached out to squeeze her arm. _I’m sorry,_ her sister mouthed, eyes soft. She didn’t have a chance to respond though, because before too long they were walking out of the apartment.

Lexa’s head was bowed, and she squeezed her eyes closed, gritting her teeth against the flood of emotions that were bouncing around her mind. She let herself be led to the elevator, and then out onto the street where the car was waiting.

“Lexa,” Clarke’s voice sounded far away. She squeezed her eyes closed again, and shook her head slightly, trying to get rid of the ringing in her ears that she’d only just realised was there. “ _Lexa,”_ Clarke’s voice was more insistent now. Staring straight down at her feet, Lexa felt so much fear and anger and anguish and embarrassment bubbling away in her mind, and she felt the sudden need to drop to her knees and scream. Clarke was still a warm presence at her side as they moved over to the car. “I’ll drive,” Clarke said simply.

Lexa stared straight ahead. “Can you?”

“Of course I can,” Clarke said, reaching into Lexa’s bag to pluck out the car keys. “I haven’t done it for a while, but it’s only a ten minute drive. I’ll manage.”

Lexa felt herself get shoved gently into the passenger seat of the car and, once she was seated, she leaned forward to brace her elbows against her knees, burying her face in her hands. Clarke slid into the drivers seat and started the engine in silence. She pulled away from the curb a little shakily, her rustiness at driving showing as she haltingly drove the car home.

Neither of them spoke all the way home.

By the time Clarke pulled up at the apartment, Lexa had managed to school her features into a kind of blank calmness. She was good at that. She’d been doing that at all these family dinners, every time in her life that something had upset her, or hurt her. It was easy to pretend that everything was fine and nothing got to her.

It was easy to ignore the stares she was getting from Clarke as they walked into the elevator, easy to keep her eyes on her own reflection in the elevator’s mirror walls, easy to pretend that the person staring back at her didn’t look like herself.

They walked back to the room maintaining the tense silence, and as Clarke’s key clicked in the lock and the door swung open, Lexa walked swiftly inside, making for the hallway. At this point, the only way this night was going to end remotely well was if she dug out the decorative bottle of whiskey she kept in her cupboard, and had a drink. Clarke seized her arm and stopped her from disappearing towards her room, though, and kept her anchored to the spot.

“Let me go,” Lexa said sharply. “I want to go to bed.”

“No.”

“I’m _tired,_ Clarke,” she said, her voice lowering.

“No,” Clarke said, just as sharply. “Not until you tell me what just happened.”

“You _saw_ what just happened,” Lexa growled, pinching the bridge of her nose and wincing. She could just feel the headache coming on. “My sister brought my ex-girlfriend to the family Christmas dinner because she thought it would snap me out of my _baby nonsense,”_ she fumed. “She thinks I’m making a huge mistake and that I’ll be a terrible mother and so she wanted to try and stop it, she brought along someone she knew would make me feel like shit and make me want to question every decision I’ve ever made,” Lexa growled, her hands curling into fists. “She thinks that I will be an awful mother, and she’s determined to make me see it.” She ran a hand roughly through her hair, ruffling it. She’d combed it carefully so it would lie flat for the dinner, but she just knew it was all going wild again. “My own sister thinks that I’m a loveless workaholic that couldn’t possibly cope with the addition of a child to my life.”

Clarke stared at her. “Who cares what she thinks,” she said insistently, and Lexa huffed impatiently. “God, Lexa, what are you so scared of?!”

“ _That she’s right,”_ Lexa snapped as her voice rose to a yell, burning with sudden anger as she rounded on Clarke. “I’m fucking scared that she’s right about me, alright?!”

Silence fell, and it was even louder than Lexa’s shouts. Her eyes stayed on Clarke, who stared back, eyes hard. They stood like that, lit only by the dim kitchen lamp on the other side of the bench, for what felt like years. Lexa had the usual strong feeling of being swallowed up by Clarke’s gaze, but this was different – Clarke was searching her, seeing her inside out, and there was a note of hurt behind the hardness. Lexa felt all the anger and hate flood out of her like a dam breaking, she could all but feel herself deflate. She watched the confusion and hurt, now clear on Clarke’s face, and felt like she was two feet tall all of a sudden.

She swallowed hard. Opening her mouth to apologise for yelling, Clarke cut her off in a sharp voice. “You can’t possibly believe that, can you?”

Lexa’s mouth fell closed, startled. She shook her head, brow furrowed, and walked away a few steps so she didn’t have to be staring into Clarke’s eyes, which wasn’t helping anything. “You don’t understand.”

“So explain it to me.”

Lexa turned her head to glance at the blonde haired girl, frowning. “They think I’m uprooting my entire life on a whim, because I miss my ex-girlfriend and I’m lonely and I think that having a baby will make me feel less lonely, like getting a puppy or something. They think I’m just ticking items of a list of things to do – get a job, buy an apartment, earn money, have a baby. They think I’ll regret it when I realise what a big mistake I’ve made.” She swallowed, hard. “And what if they’re right? What if I’m just scared of that regret? What if I don’t actually want a baby, I just don’t want to _not have_ a baby.”

She was staring at Clarke, babbling like a crazy person, and when she fell silent, she felt her skin burn with shame. But Clarke didn’t say anything for a moment, just continued staring at her in that transfixing way that she had. “Why do you want this baby, Lexa?” she asked, quietly.

Lexa squeezed her eyes shut. “Because I _am_ lonely.”

“Will you love it?”

Her eyes opened and she frowned. “Of course,”

“Then nothing else matters,” Clarke shrugged. “No one else has any right to tell you that you shouldn’t have a baby. It’s not up to them to make that kind of a decision for you.”

Lexa huffed, brow furrowing. “But – “

“No,” Clarke cut her off. “That’s the truth. There’s no other opinion that matters in this apart from yours. But,” she stepped forward, eyes still hard and burning. “If you wanted _my_ opinion? I think you’ll be the most fucking fantastic mother in the world.”

Lexa scoffed, looking away.

“I mean it,” Clarke said sharply, taking another step closer. “You’re the kindest, most caring and gentle person I know, and any kid will be lucky to have you as a mother. That’s a fact. I’m lucky to have you in my life, and so will this kid.” She was even closer now, and Lexa felt the wall at her back as she edged backwards. “So I completely refuse to let you convince yourself that you’ve made a mistake because when you meet this kid, I just _know_ that you’ll forget anything anyone else said, because if this really was a mistake, then it’s the best mistake that either of us ever made.”

Lexa was backed up against the wall now, and her hands curled into fists as she felt Clarke’s breath against her face. Clarke was everywhere at once, and the maelstrom of emotion inside Lexa was colliding hard with the wine she’d had at the party. She suddenly remembered what Clarke had said earlier in the week, about the girl she’d dated in college. The _girl._ She swallowed hard, feeling a ringing in her ears that, thankfully, wasn’t the fire alarm. _Don’t,_ she told herself. _Don’t._

But Clarke’s eyes flicked down to her lips and that was all it took.

Lexa leaned forward the last few inches to press her lips against Clarke’s, and there were little explosions going off in her nerve endings, euphoria and joy and horror and shock all like fireworks in her mind. Winning out in this war of feeling was joy, because as she tilted her head to lean even closer, she felt Clarke’s lips part and hot, sweet breath dance on her tongue, and everything was suddenly tasting and smelling and feeling like Clarke. Everything was _perfect,_ because she was kissing Clarke and, miraculously, Clarke was kissing her back.

Her own lips parted, and the kiss deepened, both of them moving against one another as though they were meant to be doing this all along. She felt Clarke’s hand cup her jaw, angling her face just _so,_ so that Clarke’s tongue could explore absolutely everything there was to explore. Lexa buried a hand in Clarke’s hair to brush her fingers along the back of Clarke’s neck and pull her closer. She felt the skin there shiver at her touch, and she felt more fireworks going off in the back of her mind as she felt all rational thought short-circuit.

They parted only momentarily, to take a quick breath and then Clarke was there again, even closer, close enough that they were pressed flush against each other against the wall, and Clarke turned her body so her leg was pressed gently between Lexa’s, and Lexa couldn’t help the faltering breath she took, Clarke hushing her at once with another bruising kiss. One of the hands that had been moving between her waist and her face disappeared for a moment before pressing against the side of her stomach against her hip bone. Sliding the hand, Clarke moved her hand along the fabric of Lexa’s dress just so the hemline rode up, and then her fingertips were gliding across Lexa’s bare thigh.

“ _Clarke,_ ” Lexa let out the hissed word through gritted teeth, and it was suddenly as though a spell had been broken, something snapped between them because suddenly Clarke was backing off, taking slow steps backwards, wide eyes set determinedly on the floor.

Lexa wanted to say something, but words failed her. Clarke turned on her heel and fled, disappearing down the hallway without a word. Watching her go, Lexa was left with a pulse that still hadn’t returned to normal, wondering whether what had just happened had been a dream.

 

 


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this Chapter - Clarke tries to work out how to salvage her relationship with Lexa, despite her feelings. To do so, she drafts the help of a few friends...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N - Thank you all so, so much for the great response for the last chapter! Honestly, if you've ever left me more than one comment, or left me a particularly nice comment, I probably have your username memorised, and I remember your comment when I'm having a bad day <3
> 
> We're nearly done, and speaking of which, I have a bit of good news - turns out, I had two chapters in my word document labelled as Chapter Fifteen accidently - so this means there's more than one chapter than I thought there was. Soo I apologise for the mistake, but this story has 17 chapters, rather than 16 :)

 

 

_CHAPTER FOURTEEN_

Clarke woke later than usual, feeling a low, unsettling feeling in her stomach as her eyes opened. It took her a full few moments to remember why exactly she was feeling this crappy. Memories hit her hard though, and she winced as the previous night came back to her.

Lexa up against a wall, leaning forward to kiss her, the feeling of utter euphoria, actually hearing her own name escaping Lexa’s lips as she felt Lexa’s fingernails press lightly into the skin on the back of her neck. Everything had been close, way too close, and warm and soft and even better than she had ever imagined. And then she’d had to make a run for it.

Clarke kicked the blankets off with a huff of frustration. She’d ruined _everything._ Clarke had gotten too close, despite knowing that life would be so much easier if she just kept her distance and maintained a professional relationship with Lexa. Like that was so hard. In less than six months, she would be legally forbidden to even come near Lexa or the baby, and that would be that. Whatever feelings she managed to avoid now would pay off in the long run, after that eventual goodbye. Now she’d gone and made that goodbye harder than ever by complicating things with Lexa.

 _But,_ her subconscious reminded her truthfully, _she kissed you, not the other way round._

Clarke sat on the side of the bed and scrubbed her hands down her face, letting out a small groan. Get pregnant, have a baby, hand the baby over and pick up the paycheck. That’s all this was supposed to be. And now?

Now she couldn’t think about Lexa without a knot forming in her stomach - a tense, anguished knot into which she poured every ounce of her denial. Denial of the fact that somewhere along the line, some time very recently, Lexa had started meaning more to her than Finn ever had. Finn never made her want to stay up late until he got home, just so she could eat dinner with him and talk about his day. She never called Finn in the middle of the day, for no other reason than to tell him some ridiculous thing she just saw or thought of. Finn never cancelled his own plans when she wasn’t feeling well so he could take her to the doctor. She’d cared that Finn was safe, but she wouldn’t have done or said anything in the world to keep him from getting hurt or upset.

Something had happened, something that felt like a realisation of a feeling that had been growing for a long time, a feeling she’d suppressed until the second she’d felt the warmth of Lexa’s lips against her own. It was _entirely_ different to anything she’d felt with Finn. It was simple – she never wanted Finn in the way she wanted Lexa. She wanted all of Lexa, the mornings where she was making coffee before work, and the nights where they watched movies together without saying anything at all. She wanted to be able to kiss Lexa and not feel like she was fucking up, she wanted to do _more_ to Lexa than just kiss her. She wanted to feel Lexa move beneath her, she wanted to be able to find where the source of that smell that always seemed to hover around her was. She wanted to wake up in the same bed as Lexa, and be able to kiss her whenever she wanted.

But.

But, of course, that couldn’t happen. Maybe it could, in an alternate universe where they’d met at a coffee shop or in the park, and not in a surrogate agency office.

Maybe, by some miracle, Lexa wanted that too. But it didn’t change anything.

She heaved herself to her feet, feeling every pound of the extra weight she’d put on. She got changed slowly. It was Sunday, Lexa wouldn’t be going to work, which meant that no matter how long she tried to put it off, she was going to have to face the other woman eventually.

Brow furrowed, she tried to think of anything that she could say, anything to make it all less awkward. Because they’d have to talk about it at some stage, right? They’d started making out in the hallway, pressed up against a wall, that wasn’t one of those things you can just ignore, right?

She looked down at her stomach, shaking her head in dismay. “Your mom’s gonna be the death of me,” she murmured as she pulled on a sweater to ward off the winter chill.

Opening her bedroom door slowly, she leaned out of the doorframe and listened carefully for signs that Lexa was up. The kitchen sounded silent, and so did the rest of the apartment, so Clarke padded out into the hallway, her sock-clad feet silent on the floorboards.

She entered the kitchen and lounge area like a frightened animal, looking around for any sign of life. The room was empty though, and even the coffee pot was in its usual place, not plugged in. Glancing up at the clock, Clarke frowned. It was nine in the morning – Lexa never slept past eight-thirty. Looking around the rest of the kitchen, she spotted a piece of paper on the island bench. Picking it up, her frown deepened.

 

_Will be back by Wednesday. If fridge isn’t stocked, use credit card in the desk drawer._

  * _L_



_Ah,_ Clarke thought, realisation dawning on her. _The work trip._ With everything that had happened, she’d completely forgotten that Lexa had told her that she was going away after Christmas. Before, she’d have thought that Lexa might wake her before she left. Now, though? Maybe she wasn’t the only one trying to avoid an awkward conversation.

She glanced down at her stomach again. “Looks like your mom’s as big a coward as I am.” She told it with a frown. As much as she’d wanted to avoid having to talk about whatever it was that was happening between them, the prospect of facing a few Lexa free days was a little disheartening. Things weren’t the same when Lexa wasn’t here.

What’s more, she didn’t even feel like she could text or call, because what would she say? Carry on like nothing had happened, go back to the way things were?

Huffing in frustration, Clarke leaned against the bench. When had things gotten so complicated?

With her emotions the way they were, and facing a full day of just stewing in her own anguish, there was really only one solution – to call Octavia. She felt almost as though she were back at college seeking advice from her best friend about some dumb crush as she pulled out her phone.

Octavia picked up the phone after a couple of rings. “Go for Blake,“

“O,” Clarke barked. “What are you doing today?”

“It’s a Sunday. _And_ it’s boxing day. I’m doing fuck all.”

“You want to do lunch?” Clarke asked, a little too hopefully.

“Sure – will the café be open?”

“Actually,” Clarke said slowly. “You could come over to the apartment if you like.”

There was silence from the other end. “You want me to walk into the witch’s den?” Octavia accused in disbelief.

“She’s not here,” Clarke said tiredly. “She’s away on a trip. Look, I just – I just need to talk to you.”

“Say no more, C,” Octavia said, a little more brightly. “I’ll be there in a few hours.”

“See you then.”

Clarke spent the remainder of the morning setting up the easel Lexa had given her out on the balcony. It was cold out, but the day was clear, and everything had a kind of chilled, icy quality that made her want to get her paints out. She took a look at the beautiful set of paints that she’d gotten for Christmas, shook her head and pulled out her old set from her cardboard box - these new ones seemed too nice to use. She set it all up outside, and wrapped a fluffy blanket around herself as she curled up on one of the chairs out on the balcony.

Pausing before picking up the paintbrush, it occurred to her that it had been so long since she’d ever painted like this properly, it was entirely likely she wasn’t so good at it. Sighing, she mixed the colours the way she’d taught herself to do long before art school, and put down an underlay of blues and greys, onto which she’d define the windows and shapes of the terraced houses beyond.

By the time Octavia arrived, Clarke had made some decent progress on her picture. Well, she figured, at least you could tell what it was. A knock at the door drew her out of her focus, and she walked back inside and over to the front door to pull it open.

Octavia stood on the other side, looking extremely uneasy. “Clarke this place is terrifying.” She said tensely.

Clarke stepped back to let her in. “It’s an apartment building, O.”

Octavia stalked inside, looking as though something might jump out at her at any moment. Clarke watched her friend’s eyes skim over every object and surface, the corners of her mouth turning down. “Nice,” she allowed. “I see why you’ve been living here instead of with me.”

“Yeah,” Clarke said, her voice heavy with sarcasm. “ _That’s_ why.” She opened the fridge and took out some food to make sandwiches while Octavia settled uneasily at the island bench in the middle of the kitchen, on one of the stools there.

“Speaking of the little one,” Octavia said, “how _are_ you going? As in – ” Her hands curved around an imaginary, exaggerated stomach, miming a pregnancy as though actually saying it was taboo.

Clarke smiled a little, rolling her eyes and glancing down at her stomach. “Actually,” she said honestly. “Pretty awesome. It’s healthy, the doctor said that at the last appointment.” Spreading butter on the sandwiches, her smile widened. “It’s weird, like – I know the little critter can’t think or anything, but It’s still like having a little passenger with me wherever I go. It kind of freaked me out at first, but – I dunno, I like having a little co-pilot.”

Octavia’s eyebrows were raised, and she was staring.

Clarke ducked her head, focusing on the sandwiches. “I mean – yeah. But whatever, it’s not my baby.” She looked up to meet Octavia’s uneasy stare. “What?”

Octavia looked uncomfortable for a moment. “Clarke – “ she said, before pausing. “I – uh – do you know how often it is that surrogates decide to keep their babies?”

 _Of course I do,_ Clarke thought to herself. _That’s why it’s written that I can’t see the baby after the birth in the damn contract._ “Pretty often,” she said, shrugging. “What’s your point?”

“What I’m trying to ask here,” Octavia said gently, “is – are you getting maybe a little too attached to this kid? I mean, not wanting to overstep at all, but are you sure you’re... y’know, _distancing_ yourself enough?”

Clarke heaved a heavy sigh, putting the top bread on the sandwiches and sliding one across the bench to Octavia. “I have absolutely no intentions of even thinking about keeping the baby. It’s been Lexa’s baby from the beginning, and nothing will change that at all.” It was the truth, she told herself, even though she felt like the baby was beginning to become a pretty solid part of her life – both literally and figuratively. She found herself talking to it more often than she’d like to admit -  It made a pretty good sounding board, for a an unborn child without the sense of hearing or sight. She took a deep breath before turning back to Octavia. “But – uh, that’s not why I called you.”

Octavia leaned forward. “It’s not about the baby.”

“No. It’s about Lexa.” She said uneasily.

“And your tragic crush on the ice queen,” Octavia said brusquely, taking a bite and chewing. “Yeah, okay. What happened, did you profess your undying love?”

 Clarke spluttered. “I don’t! – You! – _Love –_ I don’t Love – I mean – I –“

Octavia looked affronted at this display. “Clarke – chill. I was kidding.” She mumbled something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like “ _she doth protest too much_ ,” before saying “so what it is? I’m on the edge of my seat here.” She leaned forward to take another bite of her sandwich.

“I kind of...” Clarke stuttered nervously, looking down at her sandwich. “I – uh – I might have made out with her last night.”

Octavia paused, mouth wide open and sandwich halfway to her lips. She stared at Clarke incredulously, mouth still wide open. Clarke would have laughed, if she didn’t feel so anxious. “Y – you’re not kidding?” Octavia finally said in a low, disbelieving voice.

“I wish I was.” Clarke groaned, resting her elbows on the bench.

Octavia shook her head. For a moment, Clarke was sure that her friend was going to tease her, maybe laugh at her, but Octavia’s face was perfectly sincere. “Why?” She asked quietly. “I thought you really liked her. I would have thought you’d be happy?”

Clarke sighed, looking down at the bench and tracing the patterns of the marble with a finger. “I – I am,” she said, recalling how good it had felt to be pressed flush against the other woman, leaning into her and being able to feel her heat like she never had before. “It’s just. It’s just more complicated than that.”

Octavia blinked. “Why?”

Clarke took a deep breath. “The contract I signed when I became Lexa’s surrogate. It forbids me from having any contact with the baby once it’s born. Which, y’know, makes sense because like you said, a lot of surrogates try and stick around and it can get weird, but...” She met Octavia’s gaze, frowning. “No contact with the baby means no contact with Lexa. So...” Clarke shrugged. “No matter what happens now, in less than six months I’ll have to say goodbye. Why make that goodbye harder than it needs to be?”

Octavia was looking at her strangely, thoughtfully. She was suddenly Octavia the college best friend again, who offered advice and a shoulder to cry on when everything became a little too much. She let out a breath slowly, frowning. “And you want something that lasts longer than six months?”

Clarke thought about how good her life had been the past few months, how happy she’d been. How she’d do almost anything to make it last longer. There was no use denying it now. “Yeah,” she said, ducking her head a little.

“And you don’t think she does?”

Clarke sighed. “I have no idea. I don’t even know if she’s thought about me that way – long term, I mean.”

Octavia frowned. “Okay, I’m gonna be honest. Because it’s you, and I care about you.” She said slowly, and Clarke felt uneasy. “I mean - if this were anyone else, I’d tell them to go for it.” She shrugged, and then sighed. “But... I haven't been working for Lexa that long, not really, but I like to think I have a pretty good idea what she's like, and I gotta tell you, if there’s one person who’d be a stickler for holding up a contract, it’s her.”

Clarke’s heart sunk. “Yeah. I know.” She leaned against the bench, looking down at her hands. “And if I’m not sure that she feels the same way about me as I do her, then I’m as good as gone when this baby’s born.” She looked up, nodding once. “Well, I guess that settles it. I have the baby, hand it over and say my goodbyes.”

“It’s not all bad,” Octavia said gently. “I mean – think about the exhibition. It’s like you’re headed into this whole new part of your life. It’s exciting, C. And hey,” she nudged Clarke gently, “why don’t you come stay with me for a while after the baby’s born? It’ll be like college days all over again.”

Clarke smiled a little. “Yeah. Just like old times.”

She was about to say something else, maybe offer Octavia something else to eat or drink when a clatter from outside the front door to the apartment made them both pause. Clarke’s brow furrowed and she fell still as the sound of a key turning in the lock echoed throughout the quiet apartment. Octavia looked downright panicked, and Clarke felt a flash of unease – what would she do if Lexa came back early? What would she say?

It wasn’t Lexa who burst through the door though, looking wide eyed and worried. It was Lincoln, and he seemed downright upset as he looked around the apartment. “Where is she?!” he huffed.

“On a trip for work,” Clarke said in bewilderment as she straightened up from where she leant against the counter. “What’s wrong?!”

“What’s _wrong?”_ Lincoln said helplessly. “The Christmas party – she – you – Indra – she – _ugh,”_ he pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head. He glanced up to stare at Clarke. “Was she okay? Lexa, I mean. She was so upset last night, I was worried.”

Clarke pursed her lips. “I... I think so.” She stammered. “She was pretty upset, but...” she trailed off, thinking about how the evening had gone after they’d gotten home from the Christmas party. “I – I guess she’s okay now. I didn’t see her this morning before she left.” Next to her, Octavia sniggered.

Lincoln froze, as though he only just now realised that there was another person in the room. Once he caught sight of Octavia though, his eyes widened a little and it wouldn’t have seemed strange at all for his jaw to have downright hit the floor.

“Oh – Lincoln, this is my best friend, Octavia.” Clarke said, almost laughing when she took in the sight of Octavia trying hard not to stare back. “Octavia, Lincoln.”

She glanced over at him. “Nice to meet you.”

Lincoln seemed to swallow hard. “Likewise.” He looked away nervously, shrugging. “I’m sorry I burst in, I didn’t mean to interrupt you guys.”

“It’s fine,” Octavia said at once, before Clarke could even open her mouth to speak. “I’m sure Clarke wouldn’t mind if you joined us.”

Clarke rolled her eyes. “Not at all. I’ll make you a sandwich.” She chuckled, turning away to pull out some food.

“So Lincoln,” Octavia said, smoothly transitioning straight into Flirty-Octavia so seamlessly that even Clarke was impressed. She was good at this in college, but clearly she’d perfected the art. “How do you know Lexa?”

“She’s my cousin,” Lincoln said easily. “Known her since we were kids. She was my babysitter when I was really little, actually. You?” Clarke smirked a little, imagining a frazzled, younger Lexa babysitting a baby Lincoln. She’d have to ask Lincoln what Lexa was like as a child some time.

“She’s my boss,” Octavia explained with a shrug. “But I was roommates with Clarke in college.”

“What a coincidence,” Lincoln smiled. “It’s a small world, huh?”

“Sure is,” Octavia said, shooting only the most charming of smiles.

“Oh my god,” Clarke mumbled under her breath. Octavia looked sharply over at her.

“I’m sorry I interrupted your lunch,” Lincoln said, honestly regretful. “I knew Lexa was leaving the city for a few days, but I didn’t think it’d be so soon.”

“She’ll be back by Wednesday,” Clarke said, a little more uneasily than she’d intended.

Lincoln shot her a quizzical look, his eyes boring into her. “Is everything okay, Clarke?”

Octavia made a meaningful grunt as she chewed her food. Once she’d swallowed, she nodded carelessly at Clarke and said “yeah, Clarke made out with Lexa last night,” before taking another enormous bite of her sandwich.

Clarke spluttered. “ _Octavia!”_

Octavia’s eyes widened in innocence. “What?!”

Lincoln slammed his fist down on the bench. “I knew it!” he said triumphantly.

Clarke froze, her mouth falling open as she stared at Lincoln. “Wait – you knew _what?”_

Lincoln smiled, and Octavia was clearly stifling a laugh. “I mean, I knew it. Well – I suspected it.” He shook his head and shrugged a shoulder. “Lexa’s not exactly subtle, not when you know her well. I knew she liked you a lot, I just wasn’t entirely how much. And how far she’d go.” Clarke groaned, burying her head in her hands and letting out a breath. Of course Lincoln had suspected, because it had been clear that there was something else there, more than the professional relationship they should have been maintaining. It was worse than she’d thought. Lincoln peered over to her, frowning. “Wait - why are you acting like this is a bad thing.”

“It’s not a bad thing, it’s just...” Clarke frowned, “not ideal.”

Lincoln’s eyebrows rose. “You don’t like her.”

“Of course I like her, I – “ Clarke shut her mouth. _I love her,_ was what had been threatening to escape her for some time now, but she’d be damned if she let it out now, when she was making a decision to put an end to all these feelings. “I’m just not interested in anything,” Clarke said slowly. It was a lie, she knew it, and her eyes darted over to Octavia’s and they were shining with understanding. She was still thinking about what Octavia had said, about how Lexa was always one to uphold a contract – would that be true even if the contract meant saying goodbye to Clarke? Clarke wasn’t even going to let that question be answered, not if she could help it. All it would take would be backing off from Lexa, putting up those professional walls again. As hard as that might seem. _As impossible as it seems,_ she corrected mentally.

Lincoln was looking at her carefully. “Well, that’s fair enough,” he allowed with a shrug. “Just make sure Lexa knows where you’re at.”

“I will.” Clarke said. “I promise.”

 

* * * * *

 

Lincoln and Octavia left at the same time, chattering away about something to do with a TV show, or maybe a movie. Clarke found she wasn’t really noticing anymore, she’d retreated so deeply into her own mind that not much was really registering now.

The one thing she did notice, however, was the way Octavia smiled at Lincoln when he wasn’t looking. Privately, Clarke had a chuckle.

By the time they’d left, it was mid-afternoon and the apartment was too quiet. Clarke took the bus to the gallery construction site, and was disappointed when none of her usual friends were there, only workers. The plasterers had gone into the site, fixing up the shattered and cracked walls and turning them smooth and sturdy. It looked like a shipment of the floorboards they were using had arrived, great boxes of polished timber protected under blue tarpaulin around the site. She watched the workers for a while, talking to a few of them whenever they’d wander past. By the sound of it, the gallery would be finished with plenty of time, and they’d be able to get their works mounted on the walls long before the exhibition opening.

She was considering getting up to go, maybe to go for a walk in the park, when a voice from behind her made her pause.

“Hey there,”

She turned and blinked at the sight of Murphy wandering over, face in its usual array of distaste and boredom. “Hey,” Clarke said.

“Helping out on the site?” he asked, walking over to stand next to her.

A corner of Clarke’s mouth turned up and she nodded down in the general direction of her stomach. “No one will let me help anymore. Bellamy seems to think if I so much as look at a power tool I’ll go into early labour.”

“I don’t think anyone ever really gave Bellamy ‘the talk.’” Murphy deadpanned, and Clarke laughed. Murphy’s sense of humour was a fleeting, shy thing. It was hard to catch, but he could be snarky when he chose to be. He glanced over at her before looking back over at the site. “When are you due?”

“Another 20 weeks, maybe a little less,” Clarke hummed. “You can still barely tell I’m pregnant.” Murphy made a thoughtful noise, as if he didn’t think that was true. If nothing else, you could rely on Murphy to be honest. “Tell me something,” she said suddenly, taking advantage of the fact that this was maybe the first normal conversation she’d had with Murphy. “Bellamy told me you dropped out of art school – why?”

Murphy seemed unfazed. “That was presumptuous of Bellamy,” he said darkly. “I could tell you some pretty terrible things Bellamy has had to do to make his way through the art world. But I won’t,” he looked at her, and there was a spark of amusement in his eyes. “I dropped out of art school because I had no idea where it was going to take me, and I don’t like feeling like I’m not in control of where I’m headed.”

“Have you been painting all this time?” Clarke asked. “Have you been exhibited?”

“No,” Murphy said. “I worked at a hardware store for three years, then in a national park for four. Then I travelled for two years, and then I came back to the city and worked as a waiter.”

Clarke watched him with interest. “Wow.”

He glanced at her. “Wow?” He repeated. “Is that ‘wow this guy has wasted his time on a whole bunch of irrelevant shit?’”

“No,” Clarke shrugged. “I know a thing or two about wasting time. I haven’t exactly been a practicing artist for the past decade either. But it’s not like that matters now. This exhibition is going to be like a fresh start.”

Murphy smirked, and even this sarcastic half-smile was a strange sight on Murphy’s normally frowning features. “I don’t buy into that ‘fresh start’ horse shit.” Clarke stared at him, and he rolled his eyes. “You don’t just start again after having done the kind of things we’ve done just to get through the days, the long years of doing a job that isn’t your passion. It’s not like you’re suddenly reborn when you announce you’re having a fresh start, when you finally make it. You’re still the same person.” He looked over at her, and there was real honesty in his eyes. “That’s why I like your paintings, Griffin. There’s real desperation there, not those stock standard out-of-a-can emotions they drill into you at art school. You bled onto those canvases out of real desperation and fear that you’d never be able to live out your dream. Even if you become the most successful artist in the world, that’ll never leave you. Once you sink low enough to know what you’d do out of desperation, you can’t ever forget.” He snickered, looking back at the site. “Even if we all become Andy-fuckin’-Warhol and make millions of bucks out of this exhibition, it doesn’t make you a different person. You’re still the same person you were before, just with a million bucks more. You gotta stop looking and waiting for places where you can start anew, because they’re not real. You’ve just got to focus on what you can do right now to make yourself the person you want to be.” He looked at her. “ _That’s_ why I quit art school.”

Clarke stared at him. The thought of herself considering helping Finn hold up a gas station out of desperation for the money for the exhibition came into her mind. “Wow,” she repeated.

Murphy actually grinned. “We’re the same kind of people, Clarke. But that’s okay,” he said, a strange shine in his eye. “People like us make good art.”

 

* * * * *

 

Those few days in the apartment without Lexa were maybe the longest days Clarke had had in a long time. Work broke the hours up somewhat, but recently she’d been feeling oddly about work – she knew she was going to have to quit her job sooner or later when she started getting bigger, when her due date was closer. Something felt odd though, some small hopeful voice was telling her that maybe she wouldn’t have to take a job like this again, not if the exhibition went well.

The baby was her only companion over those few days, when often she’d curl up and fall asleep on the couch because she forgot to go to bed while watching some late night news program. The last time she’d seen Lexa weighed heavily on her mind. What’s more, she couldn’t help a lingering unease about seeing Lexa again, especially now she’d vowed to herself that she’d keep the other woman at arm’s length. When she saw Lexa, would she just forget everything and ruin their relationship by giving into the temptation to kiss her again – it certainly was tempting. It was a weird thing to simultaneously dread seeing someone and also miss them like crazy.

When Wednesday finally arrived, she decided she needed some kind of strategy. She just needed to tell Lexa. That’s all there was to it, she just needed to make it clear that she wasn’t interested in anything other than a professional relationship with her, as far as a friendship between two roommates would go. That would have been easy were it true, but Clarke couldn’t think about that now.

Lexa didn’t arrive home until the evening.

Clarke was sitting out on the balcony. She’d set up the easel again and was working on the painting she started the other day of the street below, now moving on to the details of the trees that shaded the road. She had earphones in and had quite forgotten track of the time when movement out of the corner of her eye made her freeze.

Lexa slid open the door to the balcony, and Clarke found herself suddenly unable to look the other woman in the eye, like the way it was impossible to look at the sun because it was too bright. Lexa was looking more casual than usual, in a grey shirt over a white undershirt and blue jeans, her feet bare. “Hello.”

Clarke cursed herself when her throat felt as though it was closing up. “Hello,” she said, and cursed even more intently when she sounded stiff and awkward. Lexa moved out to the balcony slowly and sat down quietly, as though she was afraid of spooking Clarke. Clarke finally met her gaze, swallowing hard. “How was the trip?”

Lexa shrugged, a little more relaxed than Clarke was feeling. “Uneventful. Boring, really. I would have preferred to be here.”

 _I would have preferred that too,_ Clarke thought privately. “I’m glad you’re back,” she settled on instead.

“I’m glad to be back too.” Lexa said slowly, and when Clarke met her gaze again, the other woman was looking pained. _Now’s the time to bring it up,_ Clarke told herself sternly. _Now’s the time to re-establish some boundaries._

 _“_ I – uh – “

“I’m sorry.”

Clarke blinked. “I – what? Sorry for what?”

Lexa ducked her head a little, redness tinging her cheeks. “After the Christmas party. I – I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

 _There was nothing uncomfortable about it._ “You don’t have to apologise. Ever,” Clarke said slowly. “It’s just – I – “

“You don’t have to say anything,” Lexa said quickly, almost politely. “I understand. I do.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologise.” Lexa said firmly. “You have nothing to apologise for.” She stood up. “Have you eaten?” Clarke shook her head. “I’ll call for pizza. Would that be acceptable?”

 _It’s like she’s back to the Lexa I first met,_ Clarke thought desperately. “Yeah,” she said, a little miserably. “That would be great.”

“Good,” Lexa walked briskly back through the door inside, closing it behind her.

Clarke pinched the bridge of her nose and breathed out slowly. How was it that in the process of trying to fix her ruined platonic friendship with Lexa, she’d managed to fuck it all up even more? Now Lexa was cold and distant again, and just seeing it set a knot so tight in Clarke’s stomach that she felt like she was in the throes of morning sickness all over again.

 _This is what you wanted,_ Clarke reminded herself desperately. After all, she had been the one who wanted to make that final goodbye easier – what better way to do that than ruin her relationship with Lexa beyond repair?

She walked back inside, folding her easel up and leaning it against a wall outside as she went and setting her painting down to dry. Lexa was speaking onto the phone in a low voice, and Clarke stood and watched her for a moment, just pondering how easy it would be to just walk over now and kiss her again. How good it would probably feel, after all these days of an empty apartment and thinking about her almost constantly.

Lexa hung up the phone and Clarke felt a tugging squirm in her stomach. She sighed. There was only twenty more weeks to endure, and then it would be like it never happened and she could try and forget all about this. If that were even possible. The tugging in her gut persisted, and she frowned, looking down. “Holy shit,”

Lexa looked up. “Clarke?”

“Get over here!”

“What? Wh – “

“Just do it!” Lexa walked over slowly, as thought she was afraid of getting too close. Impatient, Clarke reached forward to seize one of Lexa’s wrists and bring her hand to rest over her stomach. “You feel that?”

Lexa looked bewildered for a moment, until Clarke felt the writing squirm in her stomach once more, and Lexa’s mouth fell open. “Is that - ?”

“Yeah, I think it is,” Clarke said, grinning as she let go of Lexa’s hand. The hand stayed where it was, and a faraway look crossed Lexa’s face. “It’s kicking.”

A small smile crept over Lexa’s face and lit her eyes with amazement, and suddenly whatever spell had frozen them both in stiffness and awkwardness over the past few minutes had evaporated. “Wow,” Lexa breathed, as she felt the baby kick once more.

Lexa looked up to meet Clarke’s gaze, and the smile widened. They stood there for god knows how long, feeling for the kicking of the tiny critter in Clarke’s stomach, and laughing and grinning whenever they felt it.

It was then Clarke thought, with no small amount of relief, maybe they were going to be okay after all.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This Chapter - Baby shopping, family unity and a realisation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N - Welp, only one chapter and an epilogue chapter left to go! I sincerely hope they live up to all your expectations, I've been seriously worried lately that the ending will disappoint you all, but I hope that won't be the case.
> 
> I honestly don't know what I'm going to do when I'm all done uploading - I've been having such a good time sharing this story with you every day and reading your takes on the chapter in the comments. I noticed I've hit 12,000 views, and I've never had so many people look at anything I've done before - it means more to me than I can describe, and actually makes me quite emotional.  
> So enjoy the chapter gang, and see you all back here tomorrow for the big exhibition opening! <3

 

_CHAPTER FIFTEEN_

December turned into January, January melded into February and finally February faded into March. Time passed as it always had, even as it had when Clarke hadn’t been a permanent fixture in Lexa’s life.

While the months passed quickly and relatively painlessly, the dreams did not. It was embarrassing, really, Lexa told herself. When her surrogate and roommate had made it pretty clear that she wasn’t interested in anything beyond a professional, platonic relationship, there was no reason for her to be dreaming about said roommate on a pretty regular basis. Sometimes the dream would just be reliving the kiss they’d had after Christmas. Sometimes it would play out the same scenario, had Clarke not walked away. Sometimes Lexa got to feel the softness of Clarke’s skin and breathe in the taste of her before she woke up and forgot it all, and had to go take another shower. Sometimes the dreams would just be of Clarke holding the baby, a little wide eyed child that had wispy blonde hair and a broad smile. Other times, the dream would go off in a different direction entirely, and it would be some kind of stress dream about work or family – but the difference was that Clarke was always still there. A fixture in her dreams as much as she was in her reality.

It was embarrassing, she told herself, not to mention immature. She knew how Clarke felt, but somehow that didn’t really make her stop feeling the things she was feeling. Even when they’d fallen back into that comfortable rhythm of friendship that Lexa had feared they’d never find again after the kiss.

The trip Lexa had taken, even over those few short days after Christmas, had been a nightmare. She’d gone to conventions and listened to talks from seniors in her field, and even caught up with a few notable connections. But everything just seemed _dull,_ like this might have been thrilling years ago but now she knew exactly where she’d rather be. She thought about what Clarke had told her once upon a time about doing private things in private places, and she thought that now she finally understood. Lexa had been living one big public life – at home, at the office, it had always been about her work. Now, though, she actually had a private life that she often couldn’t wait to get home to, even if it was just getting home to see that Clarke had fallen asleep on the sofa waiting for her to get back from work. Which, by the way, Clarke still did. Sometimes, Lexa felt like Clarke’s eyes would linger on her too long, or she’d say some small thing, some irrelevant little affectionate nothing that would set Lexa’s heart to pattering a little faster, and the part of her that was still in denial would be wondering _maybe? Just maybe?_ That part of her, as much as she tried to ignore it, wondered _why would anyone who is only interested in a professional relationship act this way?_ They were back to the way they were before, dancing around each other without really addressing what the little touches and lingering looks actually _meant._

Clarke, in the nicest possible way, was enormous now. She’d quit her job without any kind of hesitation at all and now was spending most of her time either at the apartment with Lexa or at the gallery which, by the sound of it, had finished construction. She had taken her paintings over to Bellamy’s apartment with glee in anticipation for them being mounted on the wall, and just the sight of Clarke bursting out of her skin with happiness was enough to make Lexa smile too.

She showed Lexa some photos of the gallery, and Lexa had to admit, it did look beautiful. They, apparently, were just clearing away all the debris from the construction, and then they’d be ready to starting mounting paintings. Lexa had been watching Clarke drawing and painting over the past few months and found there was a quite kind of calmness to sitting and watching Clarke do her thing in silence. She’d take her laptop with her so it wouldn’t look like she’d come out onto the balcony just to stare, and they’d sit in comfortable quiet, her tapping away on her computer and Clarke sketching in a sketchbook or canvas. These were the good times, the perfect small moments that punctuated Lexa’s everyday existence.

So why, she wondered, did she still want to ruin these moments so badly by leaning forward to kiss Clarke?

She wondered this one Saturday, when the two of them were standing in a baby store, watching Clarke stare around in bewilderment at the sprawling expanse of baby furniture and racks of tiny clothes and toys. “I hope you know what you’re doing,” Clarke said in bemusement. “Because I’m completely lost.”

“I know what I’m doing,” Lexa said, but her confidence wavered when she saw just how many changing tables there actually were in existence. She’d wondered whether inviting Clarke baby shopping would break some kind of boundary, but the blonde girl had agreed to come easily enough, even seeming enthused at the idea. Lexa leaned forward to peer at the label of a crib. “I think.”

Clarke ran a finger along the wooden frame of the crib, nodding thoughtfully. “I think this one’s good. But, then again, I thought all the others were good too.”

“As long as it’s not a death trap,” Lexa said, as much to herself as to Clarke. “As long as it’s safe.”

“I don’t think they’d sell many death traps here,” Clarke hummed, wandering over to a rack of clothes to flick through the tiny onesies, her eyes softening a little. “God, these are so small.”

Lexa looked over and smiled. Wandering over to where Clarke was standing, she picked up one of the little articles of clothing. It was soft, fluffy, with a little picture of a sleeping sheep on it. “We’ll need to buy some clothes.”

Clarke picked up a pair of shoes, no longer than her thumb. “Holy shit this thing’s gonna be tiny,” she said, almost incredulously.

Lexa laughed, picking up the shoes and dropping them in the plastic bag she’d been putting their purchases in. Clarke went ahead and threw in a pair of onesies, one grey and fuzzy and then other pink and bright, with a little cartoon racoon on the front. She smiled up at Lexa, turning to wander down the aisle to look at more clothes. “So – I was wondering,” she said. “What were you thinking about names?”

Lexa frowned. “I honestly hadn’t thought about it.”

Clarke glanced up, surprised. “Seriously?

Lexa shrugged.

“You know this thing is coming ready or not?”

Smirking, Lexa scoffed. “Not for weeks. We have time.”

“ _We_ have nothing,” Clarke said, her voice changing a little as she turned away to sift through a massive rack of stuffed toys. “ _You_ have to come up with a name for this kid.” Lexa swallowed and nodded, throwing a few more clothes into her bag. Sometimes Clarke would say these weird little things that felt like a road block. The little warm feeling that had built up within Lexa froze over a little. Suddenly, she needed to change the topic.

“You going to the gallery this afternoon?” She said, trying to sound casual.

Clarke’s face seemed to relax. “Yep,” she said brightly. “The paintings should be up by now. Bellamy said there’s just final cleaning and prep to do and then we’re good to go.” Lexa smiled at the shine in Clarke’s eyes when she talked about the gallery, sifting through a tub of stuffed toys absent mindedly. When she glanced back up, Clarke was staring at her, a little cautiously, eyes flitting away nervously. “Hey, did you get your invitation in the mail? For the opening on Friday night?”

Lexa blinked. She’d been wondering how best to broach the subject of coming to the opening, it had weighed on her mind lately, as she heard Clarke talking about it more and more as the time of the opening drew near. “No,” She said. “Not yet,”

Clarke looked annoyed. “I thought it’d arrive by now. We sent them all ages ago.”

Lexa laughed. “You couldn’t have just given it to me in person? We do live together, you realise.”

“I wanted it to be a surprise,” Clarke said, ducking her head.

“Not much of a surprise,” Lexa said with a smile. “I’m going to the opening, invited or not.”

Clarke laughed, wandering in between racks of clothes. “I didn’t know whether you’d want to come,” she said carefully, her face out of sight.

Lexa almost smiled. Clarke hadn’t wanted to ask in person because she had been afraid Lexa would say no. As if that was even a possibility. “Do you want me to come?” she countered.

“Do you want to come?” Clarke shot back, catching her eye as they stood opposite one another, a table display of baby food between them.

They stared at one another for a few long moments, seriously apprehensive, before both laughed, Lexa grinning at the way Clarke’s eyes lit with amusement. “Of course I do,” Lexa said, as if this were the most obvious thing in the world.

“Good,” Clarke said, still smiling. “Because I want you to.”

 _I want you,_ Lexa thought, as they turned back to the list of things they were meant to be shopping for. _I want you so badly it scares me._

 

* * * * *

 

Lexa dropped Clarke off at the gallery before turning around to head home. She still had some work to get done at home, and when Clarke wasn’t in the apartment, she stood a chance of actually getting things done, rather than staring while her blonde roommate sketched or read or painted.

Her phone rung as she pulled up at a red light, though. Frowning, she clicked the Bluetooth speaker in her phone on. “Hello?”

“Lex,” Lincoln’s voice boomed around the car through the speakers, and she winced a little before turning the volume down. “It’s me. Where are you, are you busy?”

“Just getting back from the baby store,” Lexa said. “What’s up?”

“Just wondering whether you want to swing round my place.” Lincoln said, in a casual tone that was a little too schooled and perfect, his voice a little too high. “Y’know. Maybe have a drink and hang out.”

Lexa’s eyes narrowed. “It’s the middle of the day,” Lexa said slowly. “Is this about Octavia, is everything okay?” Octavia and Lincoln had been a particularly unforeseen development of the last couple of months, one that when Lexa had proclaimed she hadn’t seen coming in astonishment, Clarke had admitted she’d predicted from their very first meeting. It was another of those things that Clarke seemed to be deeply in tune to – where the behaviour of other people baffled and surprised Lexa, it was as easy to read as a book for Clarke. At first Lexa had written the relationship off as a phase, or perhaps Lincoln’s half-hearted attempt to finally appease his family and settle down with someone. She still remembered with bewilderment the time Lincoln had turned up to the office, only to admit to her that he was there meeting Octavia for lunch, not Lexa. Despite her own confusion, the two seemed to be inseparable. Indeed, it was getting harder to talk to Lincoln without hearing him gush about his girlfriend. Not that Lexa minded – when Lincoln was happy, she was happy – and boy was Lincoln happy.

“It’s not about Octavia,” Lincoln said quickly, a little too shiftily for Lexa’s comfort.

“Then what’s it about?”

“You should just come, okay?” Lincoln said, a little tiredly. “I really think you should come over.”

Lexa thought for a moment. It was Saturday, technically she didn’t _have_ to be doing work. She could probably spend an afternoon with Lincoln. She hadn’t seen him in a while and, after all, it’s not like there was much to do but work at the apartment when Clarke wasn’t there. “Fine,” she said cautiously. “I’ll be there in a half hour.”

“Great,” Lincoln said, and Lexa could have sworn there was something a little uneasy in his tone.

The drive to Lincoln’s wasn’t long, she was already in the neighbourhood. Lexa’s thoughts wandered back to the gallery. She wondered whether the paintings had been hung. She’d seen Clarke’s paintings a few times, but she was looking forward to the opportunity to see them hung upon white walls where they belonged, free to be looked at and analysed the way they should be. The fact that she was invited to the opening was enough to put her in reasonably good spirits.

She climbed the stairs to Lincoln’s fourth storey apartment, knowing that the elevator in his building was slow as hell, and honestly she didn’t have the patience for it. Knocking on the door, she waited to be let in. Instead, though, a voice called out, “It’s open!” from inside.

Frowning, Lexa opened the door and walked in. “You know, you should really keep your door locked, given the neighbourhood you – “ she paused.

Sitting at the four-seated dining table, hands folded and a polite look on her face, was Indra. At her side was seated Anya, and standing to the side, arms crossed, Lincoln surveyed the whole scene nervously.

Lexa swallowed hard. “I had no idea she was here.” She said in a low voice.

“Hello Alexandria.” Indra said politely. “I’m sorry it’s been so long.”

Lexa nodded once, before glancing at Lincoln. “I have to be somewhere.”

“Wait,” Anya called, looking weary. “Please just wait.”

Hesitating at the door, Lexa clenched the doorknob tightly. She hadn’t seen or talked to Indra since the Christmas party, and just being here was making her feel angry and humiliated all over again, remembering it. She clenched her teeth. “I don’t want to talk if that’s what this is.”

“Lexa,” Lincoln said pleadingly. “Come on. For me.”

It was only for her cousin’s imploring stare that Lexa mechanically closed the door and moved slowly over to the dining table. She didn’t sit down though, instead standing behind one chair and holding its back with her hands, tight enough that her knuckles paled. She looked down at her sisters with a blank face. “Fine,” she said through gritted teeth.

“Lexa,” Indra said, in a softer voice than Lexa was used to hearing her use, “I am sorry.”

Lexa’s eyes flashed. “Sorry for what? For bringing my ex-girlfriend to a family function you knew I wouldn’t want to see her at, or for calling me an incompetent mother before my child is even been born?”

Indra’s gaze faltered, as though she were thinking. “Both.”

Lexa’s eyes narrowed. “What is this?” She asked suspiciously.

“This is an explanation,” Indra said, lifting her chin in that proud old way that Lexa was used to. “And hopefully an apology.”

“An explanation for what?”

“I understand,” Indra said tersely, “that I have not been particularly supportive with regards to your decision to start a family.” Lexa scoffed under her breath, but Indra continued stoically. “And I believe that I may have let my own personal issues cloud my judgement with you.”

Lexa was caught off guard. “What?”

Indra glanced away for a moment, then caught Lexa’s gaze again as though she remembered that breaking eye-contact was a sign of weakness. “Soncha has gotten married.”

Lexa raised an eyebrow. “Good for her.”

Indra’s chin tilted higher. “She did it in secret, without telling me. I have never met her husband, and I think she intends on keeping it that way. I found out through an old family friend who _was_ invited. I have not talked to my daughter in over four years.”

Lexa held Indra’s gaze, something like pity stirring within her. “I’m sorry,” she said, and she meant it.

Indra twitched her head dismissively. “It’s not your fault. The point is, it is as you have said before – we are very alike, Lexa. And it may be impossible to believe, but everything I did, I did because I truly thought it was in your best interests.”

“You think my child will do to me what yours did to you,” Lexa said. Lincoln stirred uncomfortably.

“My child,” Indra said clearly. “Is a woman now. And she has chosen this path because I was not a good mother, or at least, a mother that did not endear myself to her. And that is no one’s fault but my own.” She said it like an admission, like she’d been needing to say it all along and now she was free of it. Her eyes seemed tired, almost relieved.

“I’m sorry we didn’t support you when you needed support,” Anya said quietly, meeting Lexa’s gaze. “It was unfair of us.” Lexa swallowed hard, nodding. Smiling bitterly, Anya shrugged. “Honestly, I don’t think anything’s been the same since Mom and Dad died. At least, not between us as a family. And that’s been all of our faults.” Eyes shining with a genuine smile, Anya nodded at Lexa. “I’m glad you’re expanding this family, Lexa. And I’m sure you’ll be a wonderful mother.”

Lexa stared at her. Then her gaze turned to Indra, who looked uneasily up at her. Lincoln was staring at the three of them with a small smile.

She shrugged, a little helplessly. “Alright,” she said quietly, and then didn’t quite know what to say. “Alright.”

Anya smiled up at her, as though this was all she needed to say. Even Indra was regarding her with a touch more warmth than usual. Maybe they really had made some kind of familial breakthrough, and maybe not. But, Lexa realised, even if they still had their doubts about her having a baby, at least they were trying. Maybe that’s all that mattered.

She sat with her family, the awkwardness and unease fading as the afternoon passed. Anya told her about how her boys were doing. “I told them they were going to have a new cousin,” she said matter-of-factly, and something in Lexa warmed.

Indra didn’t say much else, and she fell back into the kind of quiet thoughtfulness that was typical of her character. Lexa studied her for a moment, while Anya and Lincoln were chatting back and forth about something. Of course, Lexa had suspected that there was something going on with Indra and her daughter. Soncha was too much like her mother, too headstrong and independent. Indra was just as much a workaholic as Lexa was, if not more. Lexa remembered Soncha as a baby (Lexa had only been young herself,) waiting for her mother to come home from work with the shine of admiration in her eyes that all children had for their parents. Babies, of course, grow up, and kids don’t love unconditionally forever - it really wouldn’t have been a surprise to anyone that Soncha grew up to be a young woman who didn’t have a strong relationship with her mother. So – had Indra really been trying to protect Lexa from that?

Because deny it as she might, they _were_ similar. Even at a young age, Indra and Lexa had both shared a dedicated, if not obsessive, work ethic.

What if Indra was right to worry? Lexa tried to picture herself, in twenty years, being told by a family friend that her child had gotten married, hadn’t even bothered to tell her. She thought about the baby now almost fully formed in Clarke’s stomach, and felt sick herself. This wasn’t the first time she’d questioned whether she’d be a good mother – she had done it constantly. Less since the events of Christmas night, after what Clarke had said that night. But still, the possibility that she could be a terrible mother was hitting her full force now.

She swallowed hard, and when she glanced up at her family, Lincoln was staring at her intently. Anya and Indra had begun to talk about something else, something to do with Indra’s business, and Lincoln jerked his head in the direction of the pokey little kitchen in the corner of his apartment. Lexa got up and followed him over, leaving her sisters to talk.

“You okay?” Lincoln wondered quietly, busying himself with preparing some coffee so the others didn’t notice them talking. “It looked like we lost you just now.”

“I’m fine,” Lexa said stiffly.

Lincoln stared at her, looked right through her. “If this is about Indra – “

“I said I’m fine, Lincoln,” Lexa said tiredly. “I’m just...”

“Lexa,” Lincon said clearly. “There’s this new thing that this family is trying, I don’t know if you’ve heard of it – it’s called being _honest.”_

Lexa exhaled slowly, regarding him carefully. “I’m worried that what Indra said is true. That if I have a baby, I’ll just ruin everything with it and it’ll go get married without me and – “

“Lex,” Lincoln said exasperatedly. “I thought you were past this,”

“I _was,”_ Lexa huffed. “I mean, I am. I just – It’s normal to be a little worried, right?”

“Y’know,” Lincoln leaned against the counter, crossing her arms. “Indra was pretty young when she had Soncha. A little over half your age. She was still studying, remember?”

“What’s your point?” Lexa asked wearily.

“I mean, Indra wasn’t exactly equipped to handle having a daughter then. I mean, sure, she’s still a workaholic now, but you better believe she would handle being a mother different if she were given the chance to do it again.” He shrugged. “Lex, you’re worrying about neglecting your kid and having it hate you when it’s older – honestly, the fact that you’re worried about that at all now, is a pretty good sign.”

Lexa swallowed hard. “But – “

“What does Clarke say? Have you talked about this with her?”

Lexa thought about Christmas night. “Yeah, but...” she sighed. “Clarke is endlessly optimistic. She’d believe the best in anyone.”

“Or,” Lincoln said carefully. “She’s already _seen_ the best in you. And she believes in that.”

Lexa was silent for a moment, running her fingers along the cracks in the bench top absent mindedly, frowning. There were only a few people in the world that Lexa trusted unconditionally, and Lincoln and Clarke came in at the top of the list. If they were telling her that she would make a good mother, maybe it would be worth listening. She glanced up at Lincoln, smiling a little. “You’re a sap, you know that?”

He smiled. “I know,”

Lincoln went over to the fridge to put away the milk, and as he did, Lexa caught sight of a photo, hung by magnets on the front of the fridge. It was Octavia and Lincoln, laughing, with Clarke in the background looking smugly at the two of them. Lexa hadn’t seen that photo, and it kind of warmed her heart. “How are you and Octavia doing?” She asked.

Lincoln stared at her, almost cautiously. “Good...”

Lexa huffed a laugh. “I’m not going to grill you on your relationship, Lincoln, I’m not Anya.”

“Good,” Lincoln said, with no small amount of relief. “Because she was asking me questions about Octavia for half an hour before you got here.” He smiled, shyly enough to make Lexa think of him as a kid, when she used to babysit him. “I really like her, Lex.” He said, eyes shining. “I really do.”

“I’m glad,” she laughed. “The entire family breathes a sigh of relief, Lincoln Woods has finally decided to settle down.”

“I’m not – you’re – settling – I – “ Lincoln spluttered, while Lexa laughed. “I’ve only been dating her a few months, god. And besides,” he said, quirking an eyebrow and handing her a mug of coffee. “If you’re so keen to try and embarrass _me_ with relationship talk, why don’t we have a chat about Clarke?”

The smile fell away from her face. “What.”

“Don’t act like you have no idea what I’m talking about,” Lincoln said cheekily. “I know about Christmas night,” he said slyly, laughing at Lexa’s horrified look.

“How did you – “ Lexa said shrilly, mortified, then paused. “Octavia.” Of course Clarke had told her best friend what had happened. “I’m firing her.”

“Don’t you dare,” Lincoln said, as they walked back over to the table. “You know she’d never let you.”

“Damn her, the firm would suffer if I fired her,” Lexa said grudgingly. “She may be loose lipped, but she’s not a bad lawyer.”

Lincoln laughed. “In that case – promotion?”

Lexa snorted, thinking about Clarke telling Octavia about the kiss. How had Clarke sounded when she talked about it? Was she pleased? Upset? “I’ll think about it,” she said.

 

* * * * *

 

The traffic was a nightmare on the way home. There had been some event on the other side of the city, and it seemed like the entire city was on their way home. Lexa wondered whether Clarke was still at the gallery, or whether she was on a bus in the middle of the gridlock. Lexa wondered about Clarke a lot. The exhibition was so soon, the blonde haired girl had been spending so much time there. She wondered whether Clarke was already back at the apartment, and whether she’d be lounging on the couch, waiting for Lexa.

By the time she got home, it was dark, and the streetlights were bathing the sidewalk in beams of orange. She made her way up to her apartment while rubbing her eyes wearily.

When she opened the door, she frowned when she saw the lights on in the lounge room. Clarke must be home. Walking into the kitchen and closing the door behind her, Lexa was about to call out, but a quiet voice made her stop. Glancing over at the source of the noise, her eyes fell on the open door to the balcony. Through it, Clarke’s voice could be heard.

She started walking over, but Lexa paused at the door, when she heard Clarke speaking again in a soft voice, and pressed herself against the wall and fell still enough that Clarke wasn’t going to notice her. She wasn’t sure why, maybe because Clarke was talking so quietly and gently that it felt rude to interrupt.

“- and maybe I’ll help with the babyproofing before I go,” Clarke was saying thoughtfully. “Because by the time you get here, there’ll have to be some serious corner padding, little critter. There are some scary sharp edges in this place. Honestly, even I’ve gotten bruises from running into table corners around here.”

Lexa smiled. She’d heard Clarke having serious conversations with the baby many times before. It was kind of endearing, and made her heart swell with affection.

“But more importantly,” Clarke was saying pointedly, “I know you’ve kind of been hitching a ride with me this far, little critter, but there’s going to come a time when you have to get off this bus. And then the bus will leave the station. But its okay,” Clarke said placatingly. “Because your mom will take great care of you, I know it. She’s gonna love you so much, and she’s really excited to meet you. I mean, I’m excited to meet you too, but I don’t think we’re gonna get to see so much of each other. It’ll be okay though, I promise. I’m gonna miss you. I’m gonna miss your mom too. More than you know.” Clarke paused a moment, and Lexa didn’t even realise she’d been holding a breath. “I love you and your mom, kiddo. That’s why you’ve got to promise to take care of her. You have to look out for each other. I know she'll be a little worried at first, it's just because she's scared. But I know she's gonna love you so much, and you two will be happy. You'll be so happy neither of you will have any idea what to do with all the happiness.” Her voice trailed off, as though she were thinking about something, as though pronouncements like this were no big deal, as though something was distracting her.

Lexa closed her eyes and let out a breath slowly, quietly. Outside, Clarke had fallen silent, and the only sounds were the scratches of the paintbrush on the canvas Clarke was working on. “You think this colour works?” Clarke wondered, maybe to herself, maybe to the baby, but Lexa had stopped listening.

She wiped away the wetness that was reddening her eyes and took another shuddering breath, struggling to keep silent. Clenching her hands into fists, she rubbed her eyes like a child.

 _The contract,_ was all she could think with any kind of coherency. _The fucking contract._

She moved back into the apartment and slipped out the front door without Clarke even noticing she’d been in there. Before she was even outside the apartment block, she had her phone in her hand, pressed to her ear.

She was going to fix this.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This Chapter: It's exhibition time!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N - The last real chapter before the epilogue, and my favourite chapter of all of them - enjoy <3

 

 

 

_CHAPTER SIXTEEN_

Organising an exhibition, it turned out, was one of the most stressful things Clarke had ever done in her life. What’s more, she got the added pleasure of watching this kind of intense stress play out in the emotions of the three men she was exhibiting with – actually, it was pretty interesting to observe. The night before the exhibition was going to open, the four of them stood in the gallery – it was meant to be for last minute polish to the main exhibition hall, but really it was just so they could stand in the grand, awe-inspiring main gallery area and admire the work of the past nine months.

Bellamy had become quiet and still, moving deliberately and only occasionally, almost compulsively. He’d reach out to straighten a stack of pamphlets, or to move the leaves of a potted plant in the foyer of the gallery. Then his arms would drop to his sides again and he’d be perfectly still, as if he thought that if he moved, he’d explode from the stress. He had a slightly green tinge to his face, as though he was ready to puke at any given time.

Wells had metamorphosed into some kind of buzzing insect, bustling around the gallery and muttering to himself about things he had to change, and how they still had so much left to do before the opening. Of course, they’d done everything and there was nothing left to do, but apparently busying himself was Wells’ coping mechanism. He’d already given a tense monologue on how they absolutely definitely _must_ pay particular attention to what they wear tomorrow night, because a fashion disaster could ruin the entire production – it couldn’t of course, and no critic would give two shits about what any of them wore, but Wells seemed to think that the slightest disturbance could end in disaster.

Murphy, of course, was completely unaffected by the stress – if anything, he was even more calm, pacing the gallery slowly and nodding thoughtfully as he looked around at the paintings. “They look damn good together.” He murmured to Clarke, gesturing around at the paintings.

And they did. They _really_ did. The exhibition name ‘Seasons’ was making perfect sense, seeing the paintings all hung in the same space, feeding off one another in a way even more interesting and surprising that Clarke could have hoped. With their bright explosions of gold and red, Wells’ art was Summer. Bellamy’s works were Spring epitomised with bursts of colour, life and thick, textured paint with a decidedly floral sensibility. Murphy’s melancholic sepia-toned dreamscapes were Fall through and through. And Clarke’s work? Clarke’s paintings were the Winter to Wells’ Summer – dark and brooding, blue and desperate, she was suddenly floored by how different her life had been when she’d painted them.

Maybe that had been her own Winter, her own time of cold and hunger and darkness. Maybe that meant she was headed into Spring now. She sincerely hoped so.

“What if no one turns up,” Bellamy was saying as she appeared at Clarke’s side, looking nervous. “What if opening time comes tomorrow and there’s no one here. Worse, what if there’s, like, two people. Or one.”

Clarke looked at Bellamy evenly. “You handed out the flyers, right?”

Bellamy shrugged. “Only hundreds of them.”

“And you guys put the posters up? And hung the flyers at the art schools and near galleries, right?”

“Yeah, but there’s a big difference between seeing a flyer and going to an opening.” Bellamy said, exasperated.

Clarke raised an eyebrow. “We went to hundreds of openings in college, Bellamy. And do you know why?”

Belammy sighed. “Free wine.”

“Free wine,” Clarke said firmly. “We’re so stocked up on wine and champagne, if nothing else we can have a hell of a party.” She bumped him on the shoulder. “Come on, you’re just nervous now. Think about how good it’s gonna be talking to some big critic or collector about your stuff?”

Bellamy grumbled something under his breath, crossing his arms and looking up at the paintings. “God, I hope this opening goes well. We put so much money into this, you know.”

“We put everything into this,” Clarke repeated softly. The baby aimed a particularly timely kick squarely in the middle of her stomach, and wasn’t that just the most poetic thing. The baby was getting antsy and kicking her around a bit while she was standing and admiring the gallery that the baby helped her build. She owed this baby a whole lot. Well, she owed _Lexa_ a whole lot, but Lexa refused to accept that she was responsible for any of this. So, Clarke was going to have to bestow her gratefulness on her tiny living carry-on luggage instead. Laying a hand on her stomach, Bellamy looked over at her. “You good?”

“Yeah,” Clarke said, “The little critter’s just kicking.”

He smiled a little. Somewhere along the line, the three of them had come to terms with her being pregnant, and stopped acting like she was made of glass and about to shatter at any given moment. “You know if it’s a boy or girl yet?”

“Nope,” Clarke sighed. “Didn’t want to know.”

“You didn’t?” Bellamy asked. “Or Lexa didn’t?”

Clarke paused. Honestly, it had been her, not Lexa, who had refused to know the sex of the baby. Lexa had shrugged and gone along with it. “It’ll be better as a surprise,” she said defensively. _It’ll be better the less I attach myself to it,_ she thought privately.

“When are you due?” Murphy wondered from close by. “You’ve got to be getting close.”

Clarke shrugged. “Soon. Within the next month or so, I’d say.” She’d specifically avoided thinking too much about giving birth. She’d read the books, watched the videos – she was content to wait until the day she’d actually have to do the grisly deed before overthinking it too much. Then again, when you’re the size of a planet waddling around on two way-too-thin legs, you tend to think about the day you can walk without intense back and knee pain quite eagerly.

Bellamy looked like he was going to ask something else about the baby, but Wells appeared then, asking with an eye twitching wildly and an insane look on his face whether they thought the UV lights had a purple tinge to them, or whether he was seeing things. They all seemed to decide that it was time to go home after that, declaring Wells too insane with stress and worry to be useful at all, and besides, there was really nothing more for them to do. All the work had been done, the gallery had been built, and now all that was left was to open the exhibition.

She got on a bus back to the apartment, and was quickly offered a seat on the busy vehicle – one of the few perks of being so enormously pregnant that she was able to bat people out of her way with her stomach on a busy bus. Sitting down and taking her own enormous weight off her feet was, perhaps, the best feeling in the world.

When Clarke finally waddled through the door of the apartment, she was actually panting from the effort. Everything was an effort when you weigh the same as a blue whale. Lexa looked up from where she was leaning against the kitchen bench, typing at her laptop. Blinking over at Clarke, she nodded at a bowl with a cosy on top of it, keeping it warm. “I made you soup.”

Clarke grinned. “Thanks, just what I need,” she said gratefully, walking over to the bench. “How was your day?”

Lexa shrugged, closing the laptop with a small smile, eying her warmly. “Busy.”

When it came to Lexa, Clarke felt like she’d never been in a more bizarre situation. Because, it’s not like the kind of chemistry that even she couldn’t deny they had could just dissipate. It was only a few weeks before Clarke would be saying goodbye forever, and her desire to make out with Lexa again, as much as she’d hoped it would fade over time, was only strengthening. It had been Clarke that had put a stop to any kind of progression of their relationship, and she told herself repeatedly that she didn’t regret it. So what if she sometimes spent more time than was reasonable thinking about Lexa – it didn’t change anything that would happen after the baby was born and plus, that was only in a few weeks anyway. If she could just survive the painful sense of, for want of a better word, _yearning,_ that tugged at her heart for the next few weeks, she might stand a chance at walking away from this okay. _Well,_ she told herself, _if ‘okay’ means you’ll be completely cut off from Lexa and her kid then sure, I’ll be just peachy._ Maybe in a different universe they met under different circumstances, and could date like normal people. She longed to live in that universe, in a world where she could declare with complete honesty what she wanted with Lexa – how she wanted something that lasted longer than a 9-month gestation period.

Tucking into her soup, she glanced back up at Lexa, who was frowning at her phone, brows furrowed. Clarke frowned. “You okay?”

Lexa looked up, the troubled look falling from her face. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Clarke stared at her. “Is that work? You feeling okay? Stressed?”

Lexa chuckled. “I’m fine, Clarke. You don’t have to worry.” She shrugged, pocketing her phone. “Just something I thought would be done by today isn’t. I’ll have to pick it up tomorrow afternoon.”

Clarke swallowed her soup. “Stuff for work?”

Shrugging once more, Lexa dodged the question smoothly, with all the poise of a lawyer. “Kind of. I won’t be late for the exhibition, though, I promise.”

“You better not be,” Clarke smiled. “You’re my guest of honour.”

Lexa’s eyebrow quirked and she smirked a little, one of those cocky little half-smiles that made Clarke feel embarrassingly like a teenager with a crush. “Does being guest of honour come with any perks?”

Clarke rolled her eyes. “My undying love and gratitude?” Something in her laughed internally, bitterly.

“Not much,” Lexa teased. “But I’ll take it.”

“Come on,” Clarke joked, “I’m already having your baby, what more do you want from me?”

Lexa chuckled under her breath, and opened her computer up to silently tap away at it while Clarke washed her bowl in the sink. These were the kind of comfortable silences Clarke lived for, especially when she was sitting on a crowded bus, longing for the quiet of the apartment, the tapping of Lexa’s computer or the turning of a book page the only audible sound. This apartment, she’d come to realise, was a sanctuary she’d been missing for the past decade of her life. She’d needed quiet, and safe, and something homely – not the wild and loud abodes she’d shared with Finn. Sometimes she’d catch herself when she was calling this apartment ‘home.’ Lexa never noticed her doing it, or if she did, she never said anything, but Clarke thought about it a lot. This place was more of a home than she’d had in a long time, and the thought of saying goodbye to it made her immeasurably sad.

It was a weird place to be in – both simultaneously wanting the baby to be born so she could hurry up with her goodbyes and not draw it out too painfully, and wanting the baby never to be born so she could stay in these comfortable silences with Lexa forever. It was a thought that terrified her if she entertained it for too long in her mind – Clarke would stay in this apartment with Lexa forever if she could.

Drying her bowl with a dish cloth, it wasn’t too long before she couldn’t help but notice Lexa staring at her. At times like these, she’d sell a limb to know what the dark haired woman was thinking about. She met Lexa’s warm gaze with a wary smile. “What is it?” She wondered.

Lexa’s gaze fell back to her computer, smile widening. “Nothing,” she said, too innocently to be genuine. Clarke’s eyes narrowed – Lexa knew something, and was keeping quiet about it.

“What are you thinking?” Clarke asked out loud, moving forward to lean against the bench.

Lexa shrugged, crossing her arms across her chest and surveying Clarke with that tender, warm look that made Clarke feel like her knees were made of jelly. “Nothing. I’m just in a good mood is all. I’m looking forward to the exhibition tomorrow. Is everything set up?”

Clarke scoffed. “As much as it can be. Wells is hysterical, it’s kind of funny.”

“What about you?”

“Me?” Clarke thought for a moment. “I’m excited, I think.” She chuckled, thinking about her conversation with the others that morning. “I mean – maybe people will come, maybe they won’t. There’s not much we can do about it now. I’m proud of what I’ve done, I guess that’s what matters.”

Lexa looked at her thoughtfully. “E-mail me the flyer,” she said.

Clarke narrowed her eyes. “Why?”

“I need the address so I know where to go,” Lexa said, in that too innocent voice that meant she was almost certainly lying. Clarke wondered when she’d reached the point that she could tell instantly when Lexa wasn’t telling the truth. Probably about the same point that Clarke had realised she’d mentally noted every tiny facial expression of Lexa’s.

“Fine,” Clarke shrugged, her voice rising in suspicion. She wiped her hands on the dish towel, putting it down on the bench. “I think I’ll turn in early.”

Lexa hummed in agreement. “Big day tomorrow.” She said, and there was some undercurrent of excitement and amusement in her voice that cemented Clarke’s suspicion that Lexa knew something that Clarke didn’t.

“You’re being weird,” Clarke accused playfully. “What are you hiding?”

Lexa actually grinned. “Nothing. Go to bed, you need rest.”

Clarke glanced back several times at Lexa as she padded over to the hallway towards her room. Lexa laughed at her before turning back to her computer. Clarke shook her head before closing her door behind her to get changed. Lexa in good moods was always enough to make her smile – it was almost unnerving the way that the other woman’s mood could have such a massive effect on the way she herself felt. When Lexa was stressed about something at work, there was a kind of tension inside Clarke that she couldn’t explain. Well, maybe she could explain it, but it would be dangerous to stray too close to fully considering the kind of feelings she had for the dark haired woman who slept only in the other room.

She pinched the bridge of her nose and shook her head. Because of _course_ she’d been coming to the realisation that she loved Lexa this much only mere weeks before she knew she was going to have to say goodbye to both Lexa and the baby forever.

 _You were only ever just a surrogate,_ Clarke told herself, feeling suddenly more glum. _Anything else you thought, any hurt you feel – that’s on you._

She went to bed early that night, not sleeping for many hours, too busy thinking about art exhibitions and the image of dark hair splayed over a white pillow in the master bedroom down the hall.

 

* * * * *

 

The organising was tough, but the actual opening of an art exhibition, it turned out, was considerably more stressful than Clarke could have foreseen.

The afternoon was spent on final clean-ups around the gallery that Wells had demanded despite the place looking spotless thanks to the previous day’s final clean-ups. Really, this was just a time for them to wander around in circles through the gallery, looking at the familiar paintings but not really seeing them. Last night, Wells’ nervous hysteria had been almost funny – in the light of day though, only hours before the opening night of the exhibition, it started to weigh a little heavier on all of them.

Bellamy kept asking “it doesn’t matter if not many people come to the opening, right?” to himself as well as anyone who happened to get too close to him. His eyes were clouded with worry as he looked up at his paintings. Clarke knew what he was thinking – were they good enough, had they done enough, worked hard enough to actually make this work? Had they wasted a hell of a lot of money on a groundless dream. Clarke knew these thoughts well – they’d invaded her own mind over the past few hours too.

Wells had fallen grimly silent as he shifted the cartons of champagne and wine into a fridge they’d set up in the back storage area of the gallery. They’d gotten plastic flutes to serve the drinks in, and Wells was working like a madman, moving things and shifting things and lugging things around. It was exhausting to watch, but when Clarke saw the stressed, almost haunted look in his eyes, she didn’t have the heart to tell him to sit still.

Even the usually melancholic Murphy had an edge of tension to him today, his eyes clouded with some far away thought as he helped Wells move boxes of plastic cups around. He murmured to the others in a low voice, avoiding eye contact and generally retreating to whatever place within himself that he went to when he was feeling strained.

And Clarke? Clarke was dealing with the strain as best as she could – honestly, she’d picked up some pretty good ‘dealing-with-stress’ tricks from the pregnancy books she’d read, and it was pleasantly surprising how much they helped. She was enormous, and it was frustrating not to be able to help out with moving things around and doing the final set ups before the evening began, but she helped as best she could – she set out the pamphlets and information sheets Wells had gotten printed onto glossy paper. When she looked around at the gallery, she had to admit – it looked like a pretty professional operation. But she looked over at Bellamy, still looking green with worry, and felt her own heart start to stutter just a bit with nerves.

She had gone so long without any kind of attention or appreciation of her art – what if that was for a good reason? What if it was pointless to even try something like this when the universe had made it perfectly clear to her that she was a terrible artist and was better off pursuing something else?

She could feel herself on the verge of some kind of nervous panic attack, but then there was no time for that because it was four-thirty all of a sudden and the girls had turned up.

The girls – Octavia and Murphy’s girlfriend Emori, had been drafted into serving drinks and finger foods at the opening by a very insistent Wells. They arrived with enough finger food to sink a battleship, cooked in their own ovens and covered in tin foil to keep warm.

“Put it all in the back and get dressed,” Wells said, looking as grim as though he was directing a funeral, not an art exhibition.

“I’m a professional in my field,” Octavia grumbled sourly. “I’m a lawyer, you know.”

The four of them had already gotten dressed – Wells, Murphy and Bellamy into a variation of suit and dress shirt – Wells even went as far as to wear a tie. As for Clarke, formal wear tended to be pretty limited when you’re as big as a beach ball. She found a reasonably nice black dress, knee length and with plenty of room at the stomach, where she needed it. Octavia and Emori changed into plain black dresses, and Clarke almost chuckled at how much it seemed to hurt Octavia’s pride that she was being made to serve drinks for the night.

“Come on, O,” Bellamy smiled. “You’re doing this as a favour.”

Octavia looked stricken. “You mean I’m not even getting _paid?!”_

Emori, a pretty, competent looking dark haired girl, was uncomplaining in her duties, but Clarke didn’t miss when she and Murphy would catch each other’s eye. There was almost warmth and affection in Murphy’s gaze and, well, if that didn’t prove that there was someone out there for everyone than nothing would. It made something in Clarke’s heart tug a little, and she found she had to look away and busy herself with something else.

As the sun set, she officially ran out of things to keep her mind off the nerves of the opening, which would be less than an hour. Wells called them all together with a clap of his hands, as though he were commanding a theatre troupe. “Okay, team, let’s go through the game plan here,” he said efficiently, and Clarke amended her earlier observation – not a theatre troupe, maybe a football team.

“There’s a game plan?” Octavia piped up curiously. “I honestly thought this was just a boring party for artsy rich people.”

“Rich people,” mused Bellamy. “We should be so lucky.”

Wells ignored him. “Of course there’s a game plan,” he said, looking strained. “We’re going to be welcoming people in for the first hour, so be ready to get your mingle on. Octavia, Emori, you’ll be serving everyone. Just – I dunno, just wander around and give everyone flutes of champagne.”

“Sounds complicated. I hope I can manage it,” Emori said dryly, completely deadpan, and Octavia stifled a laugh.

“Then I’ll be giving the opening speech.” Wells said, as though the very idea made him want to throw up right now. “Then more mingling, and we’ll go from there. All good?”

“I hope I can remember this plan,” Octavia said, feigning worry. Emori chuckled.

“Okay, fifteen minutes until we open the doors.” Wells said, ignoring them both. “Has anyone taken a look outside yet?”

“I couldn’t do it,” Bellamy shook his head.

“We’ll find out how many people came in fifteen minutes I guess,” Murphy said, sounding a little tense. Emori squeezed his arm.

They dispersed, wandering away with identical looks of nervousness on their faces. Octavia followed Clarke, catching her wrist and looking at her questioningly. “Hey, you okay Griffin?”

Clarke made a nondescript groaning noise. “I’m coping.”

“Nervous?”

Clarke swallowed hard. “If no one turns up – “

“Clarke,” Octavia interrupted. “That’s not going to happen. Bell and Wells spent all week flapping those flyers in people’s faces, people will show up.”

Clarke’s next words were in a whisper. “But what if they hate my paintings. I didn’t paint for so long after I thought my career wasn’t going anywhere. O, what if that happens again.” She shook her head, looking down at her feet. “I don’t think I can deal with more years spent not painting.”

“C,” Octavia said clearly. “I have literally no doubt that the reason you weren’t painting for so long had nothing to do with believing that your career was going anywhere, and more to do with everything else that was happening to you – Finn, living like a drifter, everything.” She shrugged. “If you had given up on your career, Clarke, I don’t think you’d be here now. People who give up don’t go through hell, and pregnancy, just for hope. Just for a chance.”

Clarke stared at her, smiling a little. Because Octavia wasn’t wrong – it felt as though she’d been sleeping for a long time, lost in a pit of hopelessness and despair for so many years after coming to the city. She remembered the conversation she’d had with Murphy months ago – she didn’t regret that part of her life, from that part had spawned the art that now hung on these walls. Back then, when Finn was the only constant and everything felt hopeless, like she was adrift in an uncaring world, all she’d wanted was a fresh start, but what she really needed was a path forward – that’s what this exhibition was, that’s what this baby was, that’s what Lexa had been – a way forward. The next part of her life. She looked at her best friend, who was staring at her with eyebrows raised and concern in her eyes, and smiles. “You know,” Clarke said, “You’re wasted as a food server.”

Octavia rolled her eyes. “Tell me about it,” she grumbled.

“Doors are opening!” Bellamy called as he crossed the gallery floor. “Servers, get into position,”

“I don’t have a position,” Octavia called back, but even she looked nervous as Bellamy’s hand fell on the double doors. He turned the handles and pulled, flinging the doors open.

Clarke strained to see outside, and felt her heart stutter in her chest.

People began to file through the doors, picking up the flyers and pamphlets as they came, talking and murmuring amongst one another.

Clarke looked over at Wells, whose mouth had fallen open. She shot him a grin, and he returned with two thumbs up.

 

* * * * *

 

Clarke had never had to talk about her art with people much before. Finn certainly never asked her about it, and since she didn’t really have many other friends until very recently, she didn’t even have an opportunity to take her pictures out to show anyone.

So, talking about her practice and artwork with a string of people who approached her asking her if she was the artist was one of the most bizarre experiences of her life.

The exhibition had attracted a modest group of gallery goers and cultured individuals going for a night out, and people who generally wouldn’t normally come to art galleries, but lived in the area so figured they’d check it out. After half an hour of the doors being open, though, the modest group turned into a veritable crowd of people, filling the gallery with sound and conversation, and Clarke was struck by the fact that this was exactly how she’d pictured this gallery, even when it was just a warehouse.

There were well-dressed couples who sipped and complained about the carton wine (“it _is_ free, ma’am,” Octavia had told them through gritted teeth,) there were bearded hipster folk who were there to stare at the artworks and make vague, meaningless comments about them. There were art students checking out the paintings and asking intelligent questions of one of the four artists, questions all four were more than happy to answer. And then there were single, suit clad middle aged men armed with notepads and smartphones, studying the works with deep set frowns and dead eyes. “Critics,” hissed Wells as he passed Clarke in the crowd once, and Clarke had to agree – critics had a definite look, and there were a handful of people in the crowd who had the look. Clarke wondered whether there were any wealthy collectors in the crowd, looking to buy for their private collections. Then she told herself that this was insane, of _course_ no one would be interested in buying their art.

“Beautiful forms,” Clarke heard one woman saying thoughtfully, gesturing at one of Clarke’s works, making her smile.

“Evocative,” another man was saying about another of her works.

Then it was time for Wells’ speech (it had gotten so much busier, the speech had been pushed back a bit,) and a space on the floor seemed to open up out of nowhere, and Wells found himself in the middle. The nervous, twitchy Wells from earlier was gone completely, giving way to a more confident, smiling Wells. Clarke grinned – it made her heart warm with pride. No one deserved this more than Wells.

“I just wanted to first thank you all for coming out tonight,” Wells began, his voice booming around the gallery space. “This gallery really has been a labour of love for all of us, and It’s been a long process – we’re not just opening this exhibition, we’re also opening the gallery tonight, and I hope you’ll all join me in both congratulating and thanking all those involved in the creation of this beautiful gallery space which, I hope, will house many more exhibitions and artworks.” There was applause, and Clarke couldn’t help but admire Wells’ ability to command a room – he was definitely good at this. She made a mental note to talk to him about being the official gallery operator and maybe even curator. “Secondly – I’d like to talk a bit about my fellow artists,” Wells said once the crowd was silent again, and Clarke felt a shiver run down her spine. “Just like building this gallery was a long and gruelling process, so was our artists’ road here. I’m sure any of them can tell you about the painting woes of starving artists, but I know that every one of them has worked damn hard for this, and this exhibition means more to all of us than we can ever express in words.” Wells caught Clarke’s eye and smiled. She grinned back. “So – I won’t waste any more of your time,” Wells said, clapping his hands together. “There’s more wine to drink and food to eat, so I encourage all of you to have a fantastic night. Thanks,” he waved himself off, and the crowd applauded.

Clarke took the opportunity to gaze around the crowd, taking in the faces that were smiling and chatting merrily as they looked around at the paintings. All kinds of people, and all people who Clarke hadn’t expected to show up in her wildest dreams. She was just smiling, looking around at the crowded gallery, when her eyes fell on a familiar face.

Lexa was dressed in a black dress with silver panels on it, not one Clarke had seen before, but it still made her mouth go dry a little. She was holding a small stack of paper, and was staring straight at Clarke with a wide smile. Clarke returned it, grinning widely. She made to move over to Lexa, but one of the middle aged men seemed to approach her first, engaging her in conversation. The pair shook hands, and Clarke was about to walk over when suddenly Wells was in her field of vision, looking like he was going to burst out of his skin.

“ _Clarke,”_ he hissed, “holy shit, you will never believe – “ he paused, shaking his head as though he couldn’t speak.

“What?” Clarke demanded, seizing his arms. “What, what happened?!”

“Some guy,” Wells said in utter euphoria, “said he wanted to talk about a potential business opportunity with me.” He looked lost in total bliss.

“You think he wants to buy your paintings?” Clarke asked excitedly.

“Clarke,” Wells said, laughing. “I think he wants to buy the whole _collection._ All the paintings.”

Clarke’s mouth fell open. “You’re kidding.”

Wells grinned. “I mean – I don’t know for sure, but Clarke, this could be amazing.”

“I know it will be,” Clarke said.

“I gotta go find Murphy and Bell,” Wells said, laughing boomingly.

Clarke turned back to where Lexa had been, frowning when she only saw the man Lexa had been talking to, peering down at the information sheet in his hands. Her eyes searched the crowd again, looking for any sign of the dark haired woman. She wasn’t searching for long.

“Hello,” Lexa appeared at Clarke side, smiling.

Clarke returned the smile easily. “Hello yourself,” she chuckled. “Who were you talking to over there? I didn’t think you were the artsy type, what are you doing with art connections?”

“Mr. Kane is an old client,” Lexa shrugged.

Clarke narrowed her eyes, playfully suspicious. “Huh. What a coincidence.”

Lexa rolled her eyes, laughing. “Okay, okay. I _may_ have invited a few people I know who have some stakes in the local art scene. Just critics, collectors, the like.” Clarke shook her head slowly, and Lexa looked uneasy. “Are you annoyed?”

“Are you kidding me?” Clarke burst out laughing in disbelief. “This is _incredible,_ Lexa. Wells thinks that some guy might have just bought all our stuff!”

Lexa looked playfully glum. “That’s a shame. I wanted to buy one of your works for my office.”

“I’ll paint you another one,” Clarke said. “I’ll paint you a hundred more.”

“I’m holding you to that.” Lexa said firmly.

“Done.” Clarke grinned at her, and there was a kind of blooming warmth inside her that she decided had nothing to do with being pregnant.

“Hey, uh – “ Lexa said, almost nervously. “Could I talk to you for a second? Somewhere else? It won’t take long.”

Clarke shrugged, still smiling. She didn’t think she’d ever stop smiling. “Of course.” She led the way towards the back of the gallery, which led out to the back door.

Outside, the night air was cool, and they were lit only by a flickering light mounted on the side of the building. Here, you could easily see the industrial area roots of the gallery, the other warehouses looming as giant dark shapes against the light of the stars and moon. Clarke smiled around at it, relieved for the cool air hitting her skin, flushed a little red from the crowd and constant movement inside.

She turned to Lexa, who seemed jittery. “What’s up?”

“I – uh...” Lexa seemed to swallow down whatever nerves had taken hold of her. “I wanted to give you something. It was meant to go through yesterday, but I had to pick it up this afternoon instead.” She held out the stack of papers. Clarke hesitated, frowning a little in confusion, before taking them.

“What’s this?” She said, peering down at the familiar first page with a swooping feeling in her stomach. “Isn’t this our contract?” She flipped through the familiar pages. How could she forget these pages, when this document was the cause of so much of her worries and so much of what was being decided for her about her future.

“I had it amended,” Lexa said, taking a deep breath. Clarke froze, looking up with wide eyes. Her heart had started to beat faster and a low pulse of excitement was coursing through her, though her mind was still frozen in surprise. “I had the restrictions on you seeing the baby removed,” Lexa said, meeting Clarke’s gaze. “Because I think I realised something, after talking to Indra. Maybe I am a certain way, and maybe that does mean I won’t be the warmest mother,” Clarke made to protest, and Lexa raised a hand shaking her head. “It doesn’t mean I won’t be a good mother, though. And my first act as a good mother is to ask you to be part of the baby’s life. Because it doesn’t matter what there is between the two of us, whatever... whatever happens between us – I want you to be part of the baby’s life, because I can’t think of anyone better for him, or her, to have in their life. I don’t want this baby to grow up without you. On my own, I know now that I can be a good mother – but together, I can’t help feeling like we’d be amazing, like we’d be all this baby needs. We make a great team, after all.” Lexa smiled a little. “I don’t want you to go, Clarke. And I know this exhibition is the start of something new and big for you, and that’s exciting, and I’m excited _for_ you, and I would never force you to do anything you don’t want to do – but I would love for you to stay with us. With the baby, and with me. You just have to sign, and its official.”

There weren’t many times Clarke had found herself completely and utterly frozen in place, unable to come up with anything coherent to say or do. One of those times was when her father had died. Another was when she got into college. This one, though, was the best of all. She stared at Lexa, suddenly overcome with what she could really only describe as love and, as corny and ridiculous as it seemed, complete adoration for the woman standing in front of her. She felt her mouth fall open and shut, trying for words that wouldn’t come. Somehow, no words seemed to sum up everything she was feeling at once.

Lexa peered at her curiously. “You’re not saying anything,” she pointed out.

Before she really knew what she was doing, before she even knew she was going to do it, Clarke was moving forward, her hands settling on either side of Lexa’s jaw as she pressed her lips against the other woman’s, tilting her head to deepen the kiss and feeling fireworks explode in her mind when she felt Lexa’s lips move against hers. She felt Lexa’s hands brush at the side of her face, thumbs grazing her cheekbones, and laughed for no reason at all.

Lexa laughed too, pulling her in closer even though she was huge, even though there was a party going on in the gallery and Clarke was meant to be there, even though they were outside pinned against the side of a building in a dank little back alleyway. They kissed the way they were supposed to on Christmas night, before Clarke had gotten afraid of a goodbye that now didn’t even have to happen. They kissed like they were realising something at the same time as one another – that if they wanted, they could stay out here together, like this, all night.

They parted only for a moment, before they were both drawing one another back in with kisses that were half smiles and laughs, and kisses peppered across skin slightly sweaty from moving through crowds.

Wells had been right – the road had been long and gruelling to get where they were now. But somehow, along that road, Clarke had stumbled across her _new_ path, the path that was going to lead her forward, to better things and happier times.

This was the best path. Because this path had Lexa, and the baby, and her art, and her friends.

This path felt like home.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This Chapter: The epilogue - everything comes to an end, at the beginning of everything new and wonderful for both Clarke and Lexa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N - I think it's about time I shared with you the origin of this story's name: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yBndb34ggkY  
> Makes good backing music for this chapter - particularly the last half ;)

 

_EPILOGUE_

_Aden Woods-Griffin is born at four’o’clock in the morning, on the 2 nd of April, at 7 pounds, 2 ounces. He’s blonde, like the sperm donor father he never knew, but also like one of his mothers. He has bright green eyes that look almost comically serious and make both his mothers laugh._

 

* * * * *

 

1 YEAR LATER

 

* * * * *

 

It was a perfect Spring Saturday. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky all afternoon, and the wind had died down enough that afternoon that, even sitting under one of the multitudes of pretty white gazebos in the chill of the falling night, it wasn’t too blowy or cold. The two main gazebos, where most of the tables and chairs were set up for dinner, were lit by the flickering golden light of candles and lanterns, hanging from the sides of the gazebo. They’d gotten all the photos out of the way as the sun had set, when the golden glow of dusk had illuminated every tree and bush in the botanical gardens (‘golden hour,’ Clarke would call it. The perfect time for painting outside.) There was a sea of people milling around, well dressed and happy, while music played through the speakers. It was a special occasion, and it couldn’t have been a more perfect day and night for it.

Lexa made her way through the throng of people with a drink in either hand, lifting them high above the heads of people who were making their way to and from the outdoor dance floor, set up between a couple of the huge trees, the kind of trees whose roots were as thick as human legs, twisting and spiralling into the ground. There were kids running around, and Lexa thought she could recognise Anya’s twins as they dashed past laughing once, but the little ones all moved way too quickly.

She sidestepped a gathered group of family members, standing and chatting while watching the people on the dance floor sway and glide to the music. They smiled at her as she passed, and she smiled back.

She found Clarke leaning against a table on the other side of the gazebo, laughing with a dark haired girl Lexa recognised at once.

“Raven,” she said in greeting. “I didn’t realise you were here.”

Raven shrugged, characteristic smirk on her face. “I tried to get out of it. Octavia threatened me with violence if I didn’t come along.”

Clarke nodded wisely. “Making friends with Octavia is more of a commitment than you first think – you’ve gotta think it through.”

Raven rolled her eyes. “Where was this advice months ago? She couldn’t have just represented my engineering company and been my lawyer without all the fuss? She had to go ahead and become my friend too?”

“She has a way of doing that,” Clarke said, and smiled up at Lexa, accepting the drink in her hand gratefully.

“They do make a cute couple,” Raven said, nodding over at the dance floor. Lexa followed her line of sight to see Lincoln and Octavia swaying together at the centre of the crowd of people. Her heart warmed at the sight of Lincoln smiling widely, laughing at something Octavia had just said. Octavia looked beautiful in a floor length white dress, modern but elegant.

Octavia had in invited most of the people who worked at the firm, and Lincoln had invited his entire family – which may have at first seemed like a blunder, but everything seemed civil. Even the Woods family wouldn’t try and cause a scene at a wedding. She’d watched Anya tear up a little during the ceremony, and watched Indra look at their cousin proudly. She felt like the Woods family had breathed a collective sigh of relief when Lincoln had finally shown signs of settling down – they’d also, she suspected, breathed a smaller, subtler sigh of relief when Lexa had settled down herself.

Raven was looking at something across the room, waving at someone Lexa didn’t know. “Time to move on,” Raven sighed. “I’ll see you both later.” She got up and wandered off in another direction, Clarke giving her a wave goodbye. Raven had been an unexpected addition to life in general. Clarke had kept in contact with her all this time, and now they were close friends. Many people might think it bizarre, to become best friends with the woman your ex cheated on you with, but such was the kind of person Clarke was.

Speaking of Clarke, Lexa noted, the blonde-haired girl looked utterly perfect tonight in the matching dresses of all the bridesmaids, lavender coloured gowns that looked as soft and graceful as Clarke herself. Her blonde hair fell in loose waves, and she’d tied the top part tied back in a bun on the back of her head sometime after the ceremony. Clarke smiled over at Lexa as she sat down next to her.

“I think we should call again.” Lexa said, perfectly serious.

Clarke stared at her. “No.”

“Just to make sure everything’s okay,” Lexa insisted, smiling when Clarke rolled her eyes.

“Everything’s _fine,_ Lex.” She said, amusement tinging her tone as she turned a playfully reproachful blue-eyed gaze on Lexa. “I know that because we called fifteen minutes ago and It was fine then, and I don’t think the world’s ended in the last fifteen minutes.”

“You don’t know that,” Lexa said with a laugh. “This place is so remote, the world could have ended and we’d have no idea.” She looked around at the ring of trees, silhouetted against the clear, starry blue of the night sky. “I’ll never know why Octavia wanted to do this so far out from the city.”

“It’s not so far,” Clarke laughed. “Besides, it’s nice here. The air is clearer.”

“There’s clear air in the city,” Lexa protested, pouting.

Clarke laughed at her, leaning forward to press a kiss to her cheek. Lexa looked over at her, smiling a little. “I still think you should call.”

Clarke sighed. “He’s probably asleep. I don’t want to wake him.”

“I hope the babysitter got him sleeping alright,” Lea said worriedly. “I think his cough was getting worse.”

“The doctor said it was just a cold,” Clarke reminded her gently. “I’m sure he’s fine, Lexa.” Her arm wound around Lexa’s middle, pulling her a little closer. The pressure of Clarke’s arm eased the low current of stress in Lexa. They hadn’t left the apartment for more than 10 hours before now – and even in the few times they had to call a babysitter in the past, neither of them were any more than a quick drive away from the apartment at any given time. It was like an invisible tether, keeping either of them from going too far. Well, maybe not so invisible – this tether had wispy blonde hair and bright green eyes.

“I know he’s fine,” Lexa said quietly. “It doesn’t mean I can’t worry.”

“I hope he’s better for next week,” Clarke hummed thoughtfully.

“I still can’t believe you organised a birthday party for a one year old,” Lexa shook her head, smiling in playful bemusement.

Clarke smiled reproachfully at her, that playful little half-smile that Lexa loved. “Careful, you might get yourself uninvited to the party of the season.”

Lexa chuckled a laugh and wound an arm around Clarke, pulling her in closer where they sat by an otherwise empty table. The party was only just beginning, the ceremony itself having only just finished a few hours ago. Here, wandering around laughing and chatting, were all the people Lexa loved, and cared about, and the fact that she was sitting here taking it all in with the most perfect person she’d ever known was enough to make her heart swell with contentment. _What did I ever do to deserve all this?_ Lexa wondered to herself. _What did I ever do to deserve Clarke?_

Because for well over a year now, Lexa had been living a life that hadn’t solely consisted of work. She’d wanted a baby because she’d been lonely, and was worried her life was passing her by – what she got though, was a life she’d never even realised she’d wanted, with a family she couldn’t picture living without. Clarke and Aden – they were the most important things now, and she had long ago decided that a life spent with the both of them would be a life well spent.

She looked over at Clarke, who had a small smile on her face as she watched the procession on the dance floor. A faster song had come on and the people on the floor were picking up their feet a little more, laughing and dancing with the quickened beat. Lexa was content to watch the way the lights from the lanterns flickered on Clarke’s face, illuminating her eyes in brilliant blue-gold. She glanced around to make sure no one was around – it was quiet, most people were getting food and drink or dancing – before leaning forward to press a kiss to the side of Clarke’s mouth.

Clarke looked at her with a questioning smile, before closing the distance again to press their lips together, moving slowly and lazily. Lexa smiled beneath the kiss. She didn’t think she’d ever get tired of kissing Clarke, not while it sent ripples of warmth and happiness through her insides, making her heart stutter every single time.

When they parted, Clarke was looking at her warmly, and maybe a little darkly, like she didn’t want them to part. Lexa knew the feeling.

“No one would miss us, you know.” Lexa murmered, still staring at the other woman. “We could just slip out.”

Clarke turned her head a little, smiling, and Lexa leaned forward to press another kiss to her lips, just because she knew she could. Clarke kissed her back for a moment. “You want to go _now_?” She said teasingly against Lexa’s lips.

Lexa pressed in closer, as close as the chairs would let her. The temptation was burning to just pull Clarke all the way in and press the blonde woman against her, but there were people around – this was a wedding reception after all. It was crowded with friends and family. Clarke pulled away a little, smile widening. Lexa huffed a little, and Clarke laughed. “ _Yes,_ I want to go now,” Lexa said insistently, leaning in to kiss her again.

Instead, Clarke dodged the kiss by getting to her feet. “Alright,” she said.

As Lexa was saying goodbye to Octavia and pulling Lincoln in for a tight hug, telling them that they desperately needed to relieve the babysitter, she was already calculating the distance from here back into the city and to their apartment.

 

They didn’t make it to the apartment.

Instead, Clarke was straddling Lexa’s lap in the back seat of Lexa’s car, looming over her as she curved around to run her lips over Lexa’s neck. Lexa’s head fell back, her eyes closed as her breathing quickened and stuttered as her hands found Clarke’s waist. A small groan escaped her when Clarke nipped at the skin around her ear, and the blonde woman actually laughed.

Lexa got her own back by running her hands along the hem of Clarke’s dress to disappear under the fabric of her underwear and finger gently, softly at the warmth there. Clarke’s mouth disappeared from her neck and let a small huff escape, barely biting off a small cry as Lexa starting moving her fingers, clutching Clarke’s thigh with her other hand.

Their first time had been quieter, more gentle – Lexa had thought Clarke was the most beautiful person in the world even while she’d been pregnant, but it hadn’t taken the blonde woman long for her body to return to normal – her old soft curves returned with ease, and she dropped the baby weight in an impressive amount of time – especially given that she existed almost exclusively on a diet of food from the Grounder. Lexa had decided that she might like smaller, leaner, not-pregnant Clarke just as much as rounder, bigger, pregnant Clarke.

Lexa’s movements quickened, and Clarke started to rock, breathing quicker and quicker. She whimpered a little when Lexa paused. Clarke leaned forward to press a bruising kiss to Lexa’s lips, moaning under her breath. “Don’t fucking _stop,”_ she growled, and that in itself was almost enough to have Lexa seeing stars.

That first time had been the start, the beginning of everything that was going to come – pressed together, arms and legs tangled as though the bed were too small even though it was a queen bed. Sharing a pillow, Lexa pressed against Clarke’s back with her nose buried in sweet-smelling blonde hair that was splayed out on the white fabric of the pillow. Waking up to that smell, waking up in bed warmer than it had been in a very long time, to a woman who kissed her awake. That first time had been enough to have Lexa realising she may never get enough of this, of Clarke. It was scary, that first time. Perfect enough to be scary.

Lexa started to move again, faster, harder this time. Clarke let out a breath and moved against her, palms against Lexa’s jaw. “I love you,” Lexa bit out as her hands moved. “I love you,”

Clarke cried out as she came, leaning forward to press Lexa against the car seat, both of them breathing hard into one another’s mouth. As she seemed to regain logical thought, Clarke started to press soft, slow kisses to her lips. These were hazy kisses, sloppy tired kisses that Lexa loved. “We should go,” Lexa murmured, despite the aching throb between her own legs.

“Not yet,” Clarke hummed, and pulled back to slide Lexa sidewards, so she was laying down across the seat. Pulling up the hem of Lexa’s dress and peeled down her underwear slowly. As Clarke’s head ducked down, blonde haired splayed out across sharp hipbones, Lexa let her head fall back as the shock waves of pleasure rolled through her.

It had been strange, at first, sleeping in a bed with someone else after being on her own for such a long time. Strange, but incredible. When Lexa couldn’t sleep, Clarke would run her fingers gently over Lexa’s bare arms, softly enough for it to tickle, and pull her close under the covers. When Clarke couldn’t sleep, Lexa would run fingers down her back, soothing tense muscles with gentle hands and gentler words. When they _both_ couldn’t sleep they’d be twined together, moving against and with each other what felt like an eternity. It was scary, this love. Scary to know that someone else had carved out a part of her heart without her even realising it, without her even _minding._ There were two fragments of her heart missing, and they were safely in the possession of Clarke, and a little blonde boy sleeping soundly in an apartment in the city.

There would be time later to relieve the babysitter. For now, though, they had a perfect expanse of eternity ahead of them, and everything was utterly perfect.

 

* * * * *

 

Morning light was always Clarke’s favourite.

Sure, there was a lot to be said for the golden hour of sunset light, bright and orange and perfect for painting stark contrasts between shadows and highlights. But there was something more special about the peachy pinks and muted oranges of early morning. Maybe it was the symbolism – a new day dawning and all that. Or maybe it was that a perfect routine punctuated the sun’s journey up to the sky from the horizon.

Clarke would wake to the smell of Lexa everywhere, either with the dark haired woman pressed against her or with arms around one another. On weekends, it felt as though they could stay that way for hours, but of course, it didn’t work like that. Not with a one year old in the apartment.

On the day after Octavia’s wedding, Clarke woke early. Her sleeping schedule, once destroyed by shift work at fast food restaurants, had warped into something that resembled a regular person’s. Or, at least, for the most part. Most normal people didn’t wake up at ridiculous hours of the morning and find that they’d rather get up and watch the sun rise than go back to sleep. Some mornings, though, mostly weekends, it would be too tempting to stay in bed, to pull Lexa closer and bury her face in dark hair, just to close her eyes and doze.

This morning, though, she slipped out of the bed with practiced silence. Lexa hummed, half asleep, before turning in bed and burying her face into the pillow. Clarke smiled over at her, before plucking a hoodie from Lexa’s wardrobe and pulling it on to ward off the chill.

She padded down the hall and leaned up against one of the doors down the hall, straining to hear. When she heard rustling from within, Clarke opened the door and crossed the room to where the painted wooden crib was pushed up against the wall, a mobile of stars and space ships and satellites dangling over it. She braced her hands on the side of the crib and looked down with a smile, as Aden stared up at her with those wide green eyes that were so Lexa it was unbelievable.

He wriggled and fussed, reaching up in the universal baby language for ‘pick me up!’ Clarke reached down to scoop him up, and he settled easily against his chest, wide green gaze running all over the room, so seriously and sincerely.

“Good morning,” Clarke said softly, taking one of his little hands and shaking it gently.

“ _Gah_ ,” Aden said.

Clarke carried him out into the living room, where he began to wriggle a bit, pointing and grasping at the toys strewn on the floor. Leaning down, Clarke put him down on the ground near the couch, pulling a few of his favourite toys a little closer so he could reach them. Not that it mattered, though. Aden crawled like it was going out of fashion, scooting around the ground so quickly that they often had to be careful where they stepped.

Aden was quiet, but inquisitive. He’d be silent for hours but all the while working away at trying to find a way up onto the kitchen bench to get at the shiny spoons in the cutlery drawer – he liked shiny things. Lexa called him her little crow, and he just garbled something in babytalk at her in a perfectly serious response. He was smart too – Clarke only had to watch him to know that, he was quietly thoughtful in a way that made her proud to watch. What’s more, he was affectionate, crawling after his mothers until one of them plucked him up and hugged him close. Clarke couldn’t help saying one day that Aden was perhaps the most perfect kid on the planet. Lexa concurred.

He set about pulling apart a little block tower he’d built up the day before, and Clarke turned her attention to the easel that was set up near the window, canvas still on it. The papers for Lexa’s latest case were strewn across the coffee table, and tubes of paint and sketches were scattered everywhere else. She remembered how clean and untouched everything in the apartment had seemed when she first saw it, all those months ago. Now it was an even split between the messes of three people. Aden had gone through a phase where he’d rather splatter his baby food on the wall instead of eat it, and perhaps that had been the messiest time. This was a good mess, though, a comfortable mess.

Clarke spread paint out over her palette and picked up a palette knife, spreading colour roughly over the canvas in great chunks, marking forms loosely and light even more so. This was a piece for an upcoming exhibition – not at the regular gallery, the one in the industrial districts that she’d helped build, the one she still visited every so often to see how Wells had been handling it. It was for a bigger exhibition, for one of the major galleries. She’d been invited to contribute art and, seeing the notable names of other contributing artists, had been quick to say yes. She still kept the newspaper clippings from those first few reviews of her first exhibition, the one with Bellamy and Murphy and Wells. Still liked to read them and smile because she may never get tired of reading good things about her art.

Aden crawled over to her, stuffed toy in his hand, and settled himself right next to her ankles. He waved the toy in her direction. “ _Arg_ ,” he blurted, looking at her very seriously, as though it were extremely important she understand him.

Clarke smiled down at him. “What have you got there?”

“ _Hurm_.” Aden crushed the toy to his chest. “ _Aaah_.”

“Good morning,”

Clarke turned around just as Lexa swooped down to scoop Aden up from the ground, the little boy giggling. She settled him easily into the crook of her arm. For someone who’d been so terrifying of being an inadequate mother, Lexa certainly was holding her own. She used to wake up in the middle of the night and wander over to Aden’s room to watch him sleep, to make sure he was still breathing. Clarke would follow her in and lead her out by the hand, taking her back to their own bed and whispering about nothing to her until she fell asleep again. It happened less now, but Clarke understood – when you loved someone that much, just the thought of them disappearing or being hurt was enough chill you to your core.

Lexa carried him over to the kitchen, where she filled a bottle with formula and put it in the microwave, poking a few buttons to whir the machine into life. Clarke put her paintbrush down to walk over after them, coming up behind Lexa to press a kiss into the side of her neck. The dark haired woman turned her head a little, a smile on her face, and Clarke stepped back to flick the coffee pot on before walking back over to her painting. These were the little things that were important – this little morning routine was what she woke up so early for.

Theirs was a strange relationship. Their dates were more often than not trips to the park, and snuggling on the couch watching a cartoon. Their dates were more often than not done in threes, all three of them doing things together, like they’d been a family long before this, like they’d been a family for a matter of years, and not a few mere months. Of course, there were the precious evenings when Aden had been put to bed, when Clarke would pin Lexa against a wall, the same wall they’d been pressed against after a Christmas party lifetimes ago, and let her know just how much she was enjoying this new life, this life of threes. Then there were Aden’s afternoon naps, when Lexa would give as good as she got, their lips would slide together and they would ride out waves of pleasure in utter bliss, skin pressed against skin, all the while trying not to wake the baby. They were dating while parenting, and Clarke couldn’t imagine a life any more perfect with the woman she couldn’t imagine living without.

When the microwave stopped turning, Clarke heard the door pop open and in a few moments Lexa was behind her, her gaze running up and down the canvas leaning on the easel, while Aden clutched the plastic bottle of formula in his hands, sucking from it with a serious look on his face. “I like this one,” Lexa hummed, nodding slightly, approvingly.

“Good,” Clarke said, crossing her arms and stepping back to look at the picture from further away. She’d tried using sheets of gold leaf on the canvas for the first time, layering paint over it and scraping it back to form shapes and light. It had turned out better than she’d hoped, and the canvas was an expanse of gold, yellow and purple shrub-like objects, surreal and abstract but concrete and descriptive enough to discern clear shapes. It was a forest of gold and bright, vivid light. It had been a long time since Clarke had painted with the blues and dull greys of the art she used to produce. She wondered if that meant something. “It has to be good.”

“Ah, this one’s for the exhibition,” Lexa nodded, understanding. “It’s beautiful. I’m sure they’ll love it.”

“I hope so,” Clarke smiled. She leaned forward to tickle Aden’s stomach, and he giggled. “What do you think, little critter?” He grabbed at her hands, babbling. “Do you like it?”

In an hour, the sun would have fully risen over a lazy Sunday, during which none of them had any kind of responsibility whatsoever. There would be nothing to do but stay inside, together, and lounge around on couches, watch movies, cook and nap.

Then it would be Monday, and Lexa would have to go to work again. Aden would wave from the window as she drove away, and Clarke would paint. Sometimes Aden would paint with her, sometimes they would go for a walk somewhere, go out for lunch or to the park. Sometimes Lexa would take the day off and stay with them, sometimes she would even take Aden with her to draw with his crayons in the corner of her office for the general populous of the firm to coo over (Octavia was, of course, his favourite.) Sometimes Clarke would have to go to meetings with gallery reps, or commissioners, or other artists, and they’d have to call a babysitter, or drop Aden off with Anya for a few hours. Then it would be the weekend, and it would all begin again, a blissful cycle of everything that Clarke loved.

For a very long time, Clarke had thought the very idea of happy endings were sappy and unrealistic. People didn’t get what they wanted, bad things happened to good people and not every dream came true. That’s just the way the world was, and she understood that now after everything she’d seen and done since graduating college. Of course life couldn’t be perfect – bad things would always happen, and that was just the way it was.

But for the first time in her life, she felt like she could handle the bad things. With the people she loved more than anything else walking (and crawling,) this path with her, she felt more like she could handle the bad things than she ever had before.

This was only the beginning, Clarke knew. She also knew that this was her best shot of having a happy ending, a happy ending she never even knew she needed. This was the best shot she’d ever had to live a life for her art, and for the people she loved, and she couldn’t wait for any of it.

 

 

 

 

_THE END_

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Well - that's it! I can't tell you how much fun I've had sharing this story with you. I almost didn't, I wasn't planning on doing anything with it for the longest time, and then I got to the last few chapters and figured I'd upload it. I have a bunch of fics that I just write for fun, that are just sitting on my computer, many of them Clexa fics - given how wonderful you've all been about my first foray into writing a complete, 50k+ fic, maybe I'll have to dust them off ;) There's a finished coffeeshop au oneshot and a work in progress college au I have somewhere on my hard drive, I'd love to show them to you some time.  
> Uploading a chapter, going to bed and then waking up to all your kind words in the comments have been one of the biggest joys of the past two weeks - you've all been so, so wonderful and I can't thank you enough for being such so fantastic and joining me on this ride.
> 
> If you've enjoyed this story at all, I'd love it if you share the love and recommend it to a friend! :D 
> 
> I know the finale of this season of The 100 is soon (i confess, I need to catch up with it, I haven't been watching since 3.07 - I guess I've just been preferring to live in the silly little au world I've been writing in this story rather than the one on TV,) so I hope you all look after yourselves, don't get caught up in bad things and keep being the amazing people that you are, no matter what happens in the show.
> 
> Thanks for everything, gang, it's been fun <3


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